


The 10 Year Plan

by teacuphuman



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Arthur is a little too intense, Cop Eames, Eames is a good best friend, Eames is also a manwhore, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romantic Gestures, holiday fic remix, infidelity (not between Arthur and Eames), lawyer Arthur, marriage pact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-09 02:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 24,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12878424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: Arthur and Eames make a pact that if neither of them is attached in ten years time, they'll get together. Nine years, 10 months, and 29 days later, Eames starts to panic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Holiday Fic Remix, Inception Style!
> 
> This fic is based on the movie of the same name, starring no one I knew the name of except Deborah Wilson, who is amazing and used to be on MadTV. I honestly didn't have to change much because it was so perfect for Arthur and Eames. Updates will be daily (fingers crossed) and it should top out at about 30 chapters. Enjoy!

Arthur is waiting patiently at the table, anticipation humming under his skin as he straightens the silverware and waits for Kal to finish his phone call. They’d met outside, but Kal’s phone rang as Arthur was holding the door open and he’d had to take it. Arthur doesn’t mind, he knows this night is the start of something special and he’s willing to wait a few more moments for this part of his life to begin. 

 

There’s champagne chilling in a silver bucket and when he sees Kal re enter the restaurant, he fills their glasses, smiling as his date sits down.

 

“Sorry about that, it was my sister.” Kal apologizes, frowning at the champagne.

 

Arthur waves off his apology. “Don’t worry, family is important.”

 

“Um, yeah. So, this place is nice,” Kal says, smiling across the table at him.

 

Arthur grins, his heart jumping. “I wanted to go someplace special tonight. Romantic.” He pulls a rose from underneath the table and hands it to Kal, relishing the look of surprise on his face. “If you’ve met someone wonderful, then you should spoil them. It’s important to find that special person you can be yourself around, don’t you think? Someone you could spend the rest of your life with.” 

 

Kal just stares at him, and okay, maybe it’s not the best response, but Rome wasn’t built in a day, right? 

 

Arthur raises his glass. “Let’s make a toast. Here’s to...relationships.”

 

“To first dates,” Kal says slowly.

 

Arthur nods and they drink. The champagne is dry and bright, and it bursts on his tongue in a way he very much hopes Kal will be doing later.

 

“Will you excuse me for a minute?” Kal asks, putting down his empty glass.

 

“Of course,” Arthur smiles, getting to his feet when Kal stands. As soon as he sits back down, he flips open his phone and calls Eames, pulling it away from his ear when the call connects and the groans and skin slapping of Eames’ latest conquest echo through the tinny speaker.

 

“Ahhhh,” Eames cries, and Arthur shakes his head and waits for the panting to subside.. “Arthur, darling!” 

 

“He’s so cute. And smart. I really like him, Eames. I think he may be the one,” he gushes. It’s been a long time since anything Eames does has phased him, and picking up the phone when in the middle of sex is far from the most scandalous thing his best friend has done.

 

“What kind of puppy did you pick out?” Eames asks, indulgent as always.

 

Arthur pretends to be confused. “Puppy?” 

 

“The one you’re imagining in your dream house.” Arthur can hear a voice in the background, but Eames seems to be done with his partner for the moment.

 

“I...have no idea what you’re talking about,” Arthur says, primly. “Boston Terrier.”

 

“Ha! Knew it.”

 

Arthur rolls his eyes and refuses to feel shame. “Where are you? No, don’t tell me, let me guess.”

 

“You’re only going to need one guess. I wish you could see this. This bloke’s arse is so tight he nearly choked me to death,” Eames tells him, and by the tone of his voice, Arthur can tell he’s looking at that ass right now.

 

“That’s a nice visual while I enjoy my romantic dinner, thank you.”

 

“You love it,” Eames says, his voice warm.

 

“Well, my date and I are sharing a  _ connection _ . I took him to this amazing restaurant, I gave him a red rose…” Arthur glances towards the restrooms at the front of the restaurant and sees Kal dash out the door and into a taxi. “What the hell?”

 

Eames sighs, resigned. “He’s leaving, isn’t he?”

 

“He just slipped out the door!”

 

“Oh, Arthur,” Eames says, and Arthur knows the pain in his voice isn’t mocking, but genuine anguish on behalf of Arthur. “Time to initiate our suicide pact?”

 

Arthur sighs and picks up his glass. “I fear the time is upon us.”

 

“Death by chocolate?”

 

“I’m afraid so.” Arthur drains his glass.

 

“Text me where you are, I’m on my way.”

  
  


By the time Eames arrives, Arthur is almost through the bottle of champagne and listing slightly to the left.

 

“Nice place,” he remarks, looking around.

 

“It was before I was abandoned,” Arthur grouses.

 

“Here,” Eames says, handing him a small gift bag. “This will cheer you up.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“It’s your birthday present, open it.”

 

Arthur frowns. “My birthday is in two months.”

 

“I know, but I figured you could use a little happiness tonight,” Eames glances up as the waiter approaches. “Well, hello.”

 

The waiter smirks and sets a glass of beer and a dessert in front of Eames.

 

“Aww, you got my favourite!” Eames cries, eyes back on Arthur.

 

“Of course,” Arthur says, digging into the bag.

 

“Don’t get too excited, it’s not much,” Eames warns.

 

Arthur pulls out a framed photo of him and Eames at fifteen. They’re sitting side by side on the curb outside the after school theatre program they’d both attended. Arthur because he read somewhere that acting classes were a good investment for future lawyers, and Eames because that’s where all the cute gay guys were. The smile that breaks out across Arthur’s face is so wide is hurts, and he can’t help the warmth he feels as he stares at the gift.

 

“Come now, don’t get all emotional on me, you know I’m allergic,” Eames scolds through a mouthful of brownie.

 

“You have a sentimental side,” Arthur teases, holding the picture frame to his chest.

 

“Lies,” Eames declares and drinks deeply from his beer. “That’s from the day we met, yeah? I made one for you and one for me.”

 

Arthur raises his eyebrows.

 

“I just wanted to do something I knew you would like, don’t make me regret it.” Eames holds his glass up and motions for Arthur to raise his as well. “Here’s to men. Fuck ‘em!”

 

Arthur laughs. “To finding the perfect man.”

 

“To friends,” Eames counters.

 

“To relationships.”

 

“To being single!” Eames shouts and they drink.

 

The bottom of Arthur’s glass turns out to be more melancholy than he’d anticipated and he drops his head in his hands. “Do me a favor, okay? Don’t let me die alone.”

 

“You’re not going to be alone,” Eames tells him cheerfully. “I’m going to be there, holding the pillow over your face.” He raises his glass again. “This is to the hangovers we’re going to have tomorrow.”

 

Arthur groans. “So we agree?”

 

“To being hungover? You know you can’t hold your liquor, darling.”

 

“No, that we’re not going to grow old alone,” Arthur says, feeling the sudden need for reassurance.

 

“Oh, I’m never going to be alone,” Eames says, blatantly checking out the waiter as he walks by. “In fact, I’m already drafting a list in my head of all the things I’m going to do to our server before the night is through. Most of them are still illegal in 42 states.”

 

“Hey!” Arthur snaps his fingers in front of Eames’ face. “Hey, I’m serious.”

 

Eames sighs. “Arthur, you know I am always going to be here for you.”

 

Arthur looks down, his hands shaking as he pets the picture frame..

 

Eames sighs. “All right, I can see you’re obsessing over this already, so I’ll make you a deal. If in ten years, we’re both still single and neither of us have found true love, we’ll be together. A couple. Forever.”

 

Arthur glances up from his pit of misery. “A backup plan? You’re serious?”

 

“Sure!” Eames agrees, grabbing his drink napkin and placing it in front of Arthur. “Here, you’re the one who’s going to be the fancy attorney, I’ll let you draw up the contract and we’ll both sign it.”

 

Arthur stares at the napkin, feeling foolish, but oddly hopeful. “So I have ten years, then?”

 

“To find love. Because we all know life ends at thirty-five.” Eames grins.

 

When Arthur finishes writing and Eames has signed, he refills his glass and holds it up.. “Here’s to finding love.”

 

“Here’s to ten years of freedom,” Eames leers as the waiter saunters past.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a line I've been trying to fit into a fic for ages! See if you can guess which one it is ;-)

9 Years, 10 Months, 29 Days Later…

Ariadne groans, long and loud as she pulls her uniform shirt out of her pants. The locker room is busy, but most of the people on the force are used to her and Eames’ antics and ignore them. “God, I need a drink. You in?”

Eames pulls his undershirt off and applies more deodorant. A perp made him run today and he’s still bitter about it. “Raincheck, my dear, I have plans. They start with a cold beer and end with a sticky towel.”

“The best nights do,” she says fondly, holding up her right hand. “Looks like it’s just you and me again tonight, buddy.”

“You’re the one who insists on sleeping with women,” Eames tells her.

“I like women, they’re soft, and they smell good. Plus, they know where my clit is.”

Eames snorts and picks up his cell phone. “Oh, hello David.” He holds up his phone to show Ari his tinder hookup.

“Is it really that easy for you?” she asks.

“That’s the beauty of being a man, there’s no wining and dining. Five minutes and we’ll have had a beer, fifteen minutes we’ll be in bed, sixty minutes and I’m back at home watching Netflix. It’s amazing and you should try it.”

Ari grabs her shirt out of her locker. “Well, when you put it that way.”

Eames perks up. “Really?”

“Hell no!” she says through the cotton of her t-shirt.

“You’re such a prude,” he sneers.

Her head pops through the collar of her shirt and she aims a kick to his shin. “I’m not a prude to enjoy quantity over quality, Eames.”

“I prefer both.” Eames grins.

Ari glares at him. “Okay, but what percentage of your hookups actually include quality sex?”

“One hundred percent,” he answers immediately.

“Liar! You are such a freaking liar!” She tries to kick him again, but he jumps back because she still has her boots on he’s not interested in those kinds of bruises.

“Oh, you meant for me, not for them,” Eames blows out a breath. “Maybe seventy percent.”

“I still think you’re lying, but even seventy percent isn’t high enough for me to go after meaningless sex. In a committed relationship with someone you love, that number could be as high as ninety-five.”

“Ugh, but then you have all the other shite that goes with it,” Eames says, sitting on the bench to tie his shoes.

“Like what? Love, support, someone to come home to?”

“Someone to be accountable to, some ONE for the rest of your life. Only the foolish fall in love, pet.”

Ari puts her hands on her hips and her scowl is no less powerful for the fact that she’s no longer wearing pants. “I want my ninety-five percent, Eames.”

Eames shakes his head and grabs his bag. “You’re ridiculous and I’m gasping for a fag.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“I know,” Eames grins, waggling his eyebrows and heading for the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The POV will change from chapter to chapter, and it should be obvious who is in charge, but I'll try to remember to mention it in the notes. This is an Arthur chapter. Enjoy!

Arthur has been home since three, trading in his vacation hours for the joy of cooking a gourmet meal for the man he loves, and the domesticity of it fills him with warmth and serenity. He’s always liked feeling useful, and when his hard work and dedication is focused on the object of his affections, the reward is outstanding. Some guys seem to think Arthur is a little too much with his ‘intense focus’ and his ‘inability to let someone else be in control’, but Arthur doesn’t really want a guy who can’t sit back and be pampered, anyway.

 

“Here they are,” he says, coming out of the kitchen with two small plates, his apron still on. “I made you those appetizers you like with the imported goat cheese.”

 

Charlie is sitting on the couch clutching a full glass of red wine in his hands.“Please, sit down,” he says, sounding tired.

 

“I will, but trust me, you don’t want dinner to burn.” Arthur runs a hand through Charlie’s blond hair.

 

Charlie sighs and leans into the touch. “It does smell great, what is it?”

 

“Eggplant Sorrento,” Arthur tells him, smug.

 

Charlie blinks up at him. “Are you kidding me? That’s my favorite.”

 

“I know, I called your mother.”

 

“You’re making my mom’s Eggplant Sorrento?” Charlie asks, confused.

 

“Well, you’ve working a lot recently, so I thought it would be nice to do something extra special for you,” Arthur explains, leaning down to peck him on the lips.

 

“I can’t believe you called my mother. That’s a tad scary.”

 

Arthur chuckles. “Sit, relax, that’s an ‘86 Cabernet. I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

From the kitchen, Arthur sees Charlie drain the wine glass and he shakes his head. Charlie’s been working so hard lately, and Arthur is more than happy with the opportunity to spoil him. When Arthur returns to the living room ten minutes later, with a spoonful of sauce for the Charlie to try, the appetizers are nothing but crumbs and the wine bottle is half empty.

 

“Someone was hungry. And thirsty.”

 

“Are you ever going to sit down? I’d like to talk.” Charlie is wringing his hands, and Arthur frowns at the tight line of his shoulders so he offers him a taste of the sauce.

 

“Wow, that is good. It’s exactly how my mom makes it,” Charlie says, relaxing a little.

 

“Good. Now I want to hear all about your day. Come to the table and we’ll talk over dinner.”

 

Arthur brings out the food and dishes them both up, refilling their wine glasses while Charlie stares at the table.

 

“I don’t even know what to say.”

 

“How about ‘let’s eat’?” Arthur teases.

 

“Fine,” Charlie grouses and picks up his fork. The meal is mostly silent, but Arthur doesn’t mind. He knows all too well the need for silence and the time to decompress from a stressful work day. He’s content to sit and eat, watching Charlie enjoy the meal made especially for him. 

 

Arthur’s still only halfway through his dinner when Charlie puts his fork down, plate clear and glass empty once again. He burps into his fist and Arthur smiles.

 

“I will take that as a compliment.”

 

“That was amazing,” Charlie tells him, sitting back.

 

“I’m glad. How did the client meeting go today? I hope you got all the ‘I’m thinking of you’ texts I sent.”

 

“Yep. All ten,” Charlie says, and he’s no longer looking at Arthur, his eyes glued to his hands in his lap.

 

“You seem a little tired tonight. Why don’t you go into the living room and relax, I’ll clean this up,” Arthur offers.

 

Charlie sighs. “I’m just...I’m trying to figure out the best way to talk to you about something.”

 

“Well, as long as it’s not ‘let’s see other people’,” Arthur jokes.

 

“Uh,” Charlie stutters, flushing.

 

“You want to see other people,” Arthur says flatly.

 

“It just feels like we’re moving too fast.”

 

Arthur’s fork clatters to his plate and he folds his arms over his chest. “We’ve been dating for a month. I see you once a week for dinner and sex and I do all the work for both, how is that possibly moving too fast?”

 

“I just want to pump the brakes a bit,” Charlie explains, leaning forward.

 

“Well do you think you could have pumped them on a day I didn’t spend cooking and elaborate dinner and planning romantic massages?” Arthur makes an angry gesture toward his bedroom where he can just see the corner of the massage table set up at the end of the bed.

 

“Wow. Uh, Arthur, one day you are going to make someone the most amazing husband.”

 

“Just not you,” he huffs, all the anger draining out of him.

 

“No. I’m gonna leave.” Charlie says, awkwardly.

 

“You should probably do that,” Arthur says, resigned and feeling numb. He sits at the table, staring at Charlie’s empty plate, upset and humiliated, and not at all surprised. The call is going through before he even registered that the phone is in his hand and Eames picks up on the second ring.

 

Eames’ face pops up on his screen, mouth wide and smiling. “Arthur! Say hello to David. Say hi, David.” 

 

The phone swivels and a young-looking man is waving awkwardly at the camera, still sweaty and naked. “Hi.”

 

Arthur musters a smile. “Hello, David. It’s always a pleasure meeting one of Eames’ hookups. Especially right after I’ve been dumped.”

 

”Oh,” David’s quasi smile drops off his face and he actually looks bummed for Arthur.

 

”Ugh, what happened?” Eames asks, coming back into view.

 

Arthur snorts. ”Like you have to ask.”

 

”Shall I come over, darling?” Eames’ voice is low and soothing, and sometimes Arthur just wants to lay in it. Surround himself in the soothing accent and plush lips of his best friend and go to sleep.

 

”That depends, do you like strawberries infused with cognac and dipped in dark chocolate?” Arthur asks, shaking off the fantasy.

 

David appears over Eames shoulder. ”Strawberries and cognac? Can I come?”

 

Eames looks over his shoulder, a shit-eating grin on his face. ”You already did, twice.” When he turns back to Arthur, Eames is serious and focused once more. “I’ll be there soon, Arthur.”

 

“I’ll be here,” Arthur tells him. “I’ve got no place left to go.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's POV. There are sex toys in this chapter. Don't get excited, it's not what you think.

“Mmm, ohhhh, darling, these are divine!” Eames groans and bites into another strawberry, shameless as juice drips down his chin. “When did you start fucking Martha Stewart?”

 

Arthur chuckles. “One does what one has to to get a man.”

 

“I have had a lot of men, I have never injected a strawberry with cognac before. Well, not in the literal sense.” Eames shrugs and pops an entire strawberry into his mouth, moaning around it.

 

Arthur drags a hand down his face. “It doesn’t matter anyway, I’m done. I’m in my mid-30s and it’s time to accept that I’m destined to become a gay spinster. If the thought of dog hair everywhere didn’t disgust me, I’d be a gay cliche.”

 

“Trust me when I say you don’t need a small dog to be a gay cliche,” Eames drawls.

 

“Thanks,” Arthur rolls his eyes. “Either way, I’m tired and done. I’m sick of chasing men only to have my heart broken every time.”

 

Eames throws down the strawberry in his hand and stands. “Okay, enough of the pity party. I’m taking you shopping. If you’re going to be single, you’re going to need the proper tools.”

 

“I’m a little afraid of you right now,” Arthur says, looking up at him.

 

“Then you are smarter than you look. Come on.”

 

Twenty minutes later, Eames is leading him through the costume section of a downtown sex shop and stopping in front of the toy wall with his arms spread and a wide smile on his face.

. 

“Seriously?”

 

Eames huffs. “If I know you, a kinky evening means using your left hand, and your toy arsenal consists of a two-year-old jar of lube.” He drops his arm over Arthur’s shoulders and turns him toward the wall. “Look, petal, being single requires the proper equipment and there’s no better place to get it than here.”

 

“Is that why everyone here seems to know you by name?” Arthur asks.

 

“And length,” Eames winks. “Ah, Fleshjack! Better than a real mouth because it doesn’t speak! Now, a dildo. No more will you gamble with what’s on the other side of the zipper. Nothing is worse than unwrapping a whopper, only to find they skimped on the pickle.”

 

Arthur presses his hands over his face. “I am so embarrassed to know you right now.”

 

“Oh! A mini projector!” Eames says, shoving the dildo and Fleshjack into Arthur’s arms to pick up a small plastic box. “You can watch your favourite porn in HD, above your head.”

 

“I can see you’ve done extensive research on the subject,” Arthur says, taking a second look at the dildo. It looks less threatening than he expected. Kind of reminds him of a boyfriend he had in University, actually.

 

“Hey, I may not be good at many things, but the things I’m good at, I’m an expert in.” Eames winks again, taking a bottle of lube from the shelf. “Oh! Minty fresh!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eames POV!
> 
> Psst! This is one of my favourite chapters!

Eames collects their tacos from the vendor and heads back to where Ari is leaning against the front of their cruiser.

 

Ari takes her food and shakes her head. “I can’t believe you make me eat here.”

 

“What are you talking about? Everyone knows the best food comes from food trucks.” Eames says and eats half the taco in one bite.

 

“So does e-coli,” Ari says, but starts eating.

 

“Hey, I got you something!” Eames remembers, pulling an egg-shaped vibrator out of his pocket. “It’s a sex toy!”

 

Ari stares at him. “Do you seriously think I don’t know what it is?”

 

“Well, you seemed startled.”

 

“I’m startled because you, my partner at work, where we are police officers, bought me a sex toy and then proceeded to give it to me in broad daylight in from of half a dozen strangers. Have you had that in your pocket all morning?”

 

Eames is perplexed. “Do you not want it then?”

 

Ari rolls her eyes. “Shut up and give it to me. I could have you fired for sexual harassment, you know.”

 

“I’m gay,” Eames reminds her.

 

“You’re also a terrible person, you want a ribbon or something?”

 

“You know Ari, and now, don’t take this the wrong way, but—” Eames starts.

 

“I swear to god, Eames, if you ask me if I’m PSMing, I’m going to shoot you.”

 

“I’m not stupid, Ariadne. I was going to ask when the last time you had sex was. You seem a little tense.”

 

“Oh my god, I hate you so much.” Ari stomps her foot and shoves the rest of her taco in her mouth.

 

“Look, I was shopping with Arthur last night and as I was starting up at the wall of dildos, I thought, hey, I know someone else who could use one of these! Anyway, at least he didn’t bite my head off when I bought him toys.”

 

“You’d probably like that, you freak. And I don’t need the D, but thanks. Wait, why were you buying Arthur sex toys?”

 

“I was trying to cheer him up. Take him mind off the fact that his latest paramour dumped him,” Eames explains.

 

“Another one?” Ari groans. “I feel so bad for that guy.”

 

“Yeah, me too. Arthur can be a bit much.”

 

Ari smacks him in the arm. “I was talking about Arthur!”

 

“You feel bad for Arthur?” Eames says, crinkling his nose. “If you’re going to feel sorry for someone, feel it for me. Arthur and I made a deal ten years ago that if we were still single at thirty-five, we’d become a couple.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” Ari snorts. “Arthur is a smart, successful lawyer. He could do way better than you.”

 

“I know! Wait, what?” Eames demands.

 

“I don’t know why you’re complaining, I think it’s a great idea, you’d be lucky to have a guy like Arthur.”

 

Eames shakes his head. “No, that is the last thing in the world I need.”

 

Ari tosses her garbage in the bin next to the car. “You’re crazy, but we both knew that. Sounds like if you don’t want to be Arthur’s next boyfriend, you need to do something about it, quick.”

 

Eames nods, sucking hot sauce off his thumb. “Arthur turns thirty-five in one month. We have thirty days to find Arthur a boyfriend.”

 

Ari pats him on the shoulder and looks into his eyes. “Not ‘we’. You.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eames POV.
> 
> Say it with me now, Unresolved Sexual Tension.

When Eames arrives at Arthur’s house later that night after his shift, he uses his key to get in, knocking on the door jamb before he goes straight for the sideboard liquor collection.

 

“Are you ready for boy’s night?” he asks, pouring himself a generous glass of bourbon.

 

“Eames, would you like a drink?” Arthur asks flatly.

 

“Darling, I have trained you well, but I’ll get it.” He winks and adds another quarter inch of liquor to his glass. “Can we stop by my place on the way? I didn’t have time to go back to the station and change.”

 

Arthur nods, leaning against the dining table. “Sure, whatever you need to do.”

 

Eames takes a drink and smacks his lips, the bourbon pooling warmly in his belly. “Ah, I waited all day for that.”  He takes another drink and notices Arthur staring at him in the mirror over the sideboard. “What are you looking at?”

 

Arthur ducks his head, caught out, but smiling. “Nothing, it’s just... I rarely see you in uniform.”

 

“You like a man in uniform?” Eames teases, cocking his hip and resting his hand on his service weapon.

 

Arthur smirks, but his ears have gone pink and Eames knows him too well for Arthur to hide any tells. “Who doesn’t?”

 

“And what do you think?” Eames asks, widening his stance and trying to look serious.

 

“I think you look less like a cop and more like a male stripper,” Arthur tells him decisively, making Eames laugh, because yeah, he’s heard that before. “How many times a day do you threaten to cock your gun?” 

 

“Hilarious, Arthur. Truly, I tremble at the foot of your sparkling wit.” Eames rolls his eyes.

 

“And they say the cop at your door is never a stripper when you want him to be.”

 

“Oh, I’ll show you a male stripper,” Eames tells him, pulling out his phone. He starts his house cleaning playlist and drops the phone on the table. The music is slow, but has a good beat, and yes, maybe he sometimes cleans his house while dancing in the nude, but it’s only because he really hates doing laundry, not because he’s a narcissist. Mostly. He slinks forward while Arthur laughs and Eames grabs him by the collar, pressing him back against the edge of the table. “Have you been a bad boy, Arthur?”

 

“I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for me to look this good,” Arthur says, smirking.

 

“Looks like someone needs to do a little ‘hard time’,” Eames purrs, pressing between Arthur’s spread legs and dancing himself lower, his lips not quite dragging along the front of Arthur’s shirt.

 

Arthur hands comes up, his fingers digging into Eames’ shoulders when he slides his hands down over Arthur’s stomach and hips. He runs his hands up and down Arthur’s thighs, letting his thumbs drag along the inseam of his trousers, then he straightens slowly, practically crawling up Arthur’s body, and Arthur’s gripping him so hard Eames is sure he’ll have bruises, but they’re standing barely an inch apart, staring into each other’s eyes, and something inside him shifts. Because he and Arthur have been this close before, hell, they’ve been totally naked in front of one another, but that didn’t feel like this. Intimate, and charged, full of possibility, and everything Eames has always told himself he doesn’t want. But he’s not blinking, and Arthur’s not backing off, and all Eames can think about now is how different a kisser Arthur must be from when they were fifteen and desperate to get their first snog over with, and maybe Eames needs a refresher, just to ease his mind.

 

“We should get going,” Arthur says, breaking the tension with a shaky smile.

 

“Um, yeah, we should go,” Eames agrees and steps away, clearing his throat.

 

“I’ll get my keys.” Arthur flees into the kitchen and Eames has to force himself not to follow.

 

“I’ll be in the car,” Eames says before downing the rest of his drink and bolting outside.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eames POV

The first five minutes of the ride over is filled with forced laughter, but it doesn’t take long for them to fall back into sync, and once Eames has changed out of his uniform, they take an uber downtown.

 

“A go-go bar?” Arthur grouses.

 

“Every once in awhile a man must let his gay out to play,” Eames tells him, sagely.

 

“If you’re worried about not being gay enough, I’d say you’re good for the next year,” Arthur takes in his faux snakeskin button up. “Maybe ten.”

 

Eames growls at him playfully, then flags down the bartender. “Two martini's my good man! So dirty I’ll need to be licked clean when I’m done.”

 

“There is so much wrong with you,” Arthur tells him, a fond smile on his face. “What is it with you and go-go bars, anyway?”

 

“They encompass four of my favourite things,” Eames says, listing them on his fingers. “Booze, music, and mostly naked men.”

 

“That’s only three.”

 

Eames leans closer and leers at him until Arthur pushes his face away, laughing. Eames loves Arthur’s laugh when it’s genuine. It’s deep-throated and full-bodied, and his dimples nearly disappear into his apple cheeks. It’s special, and Eames knows he’s one of the only ones who get to see it on a regular basis because for all that Arthur throws himself into relationships, he’s usually too busy trying to be the perfect mate to really be himself. It’s a shame, Eames thinks, because the real Arthur is pretty fantastic.

 

He thanks the bartender and clinks his martini against Arthur’s. “You shouldn’t snub your nose at these places, Arthur, they are an important tool in the gay man’s sexual arsenal.”

 

Arthur nods. “Like candles and chocolate dipped strawberries.”

 

“See, there’s your problem, darling. You need less romance and more sex. Now, bear with me. Define a go-go boy.”

 

Arthur clears his throat and looks up at the young man dancing on the bar above them. “A young, strapping, attractive male, wearing next to nothing, thrusting his engorged...Let’s just say he’s a sexy male dancer.”

 

“Yes, exactly!” Eames cries. “Sexy. Men are visual animals, we see a hot guy, we get turned on. Go-go boys are simply eye candy, here to stimulate our adrenaline and boost our testosterone.”

 

“That sounds very scientific,” Arthur says, then uses his teeth to pull the olive off the little plastic sword in his drink.

 

Eames stares, momentarily distracted by Arthur’s mouth, but he shakes it off when the dancer nudges him with his calf. “I assure you, it is. It’s psychological. They’re here to tease. You can’t have them, you can just look and gently touch,” Eames says with a smile, slipping a twenty under the hem of the dancer’s booty shorts.

 

“What does this have to do with me?” Arthur asks, draining his glass.

 

“It has everything to do with you! Think!” Eames signals to the bartender for two more drinks.

 

Arthur frowns. “Guys want them, but go home with me?”

 

Eames throws his hands up in the air. “Finally! Yes, you want a man; these boys will get you one!”

 

Arthur shakes his head. “It disturbs me so much when you call them boys. And I want someone who cares about me, not someone who has sex with me while thinking about some greased up muscle twink in a G-string.”

 

“Sex is sex,” Eames argues.

Arthur shrugs. “For you.”

 

“Arthur, darling, you need to relax. Look, see that angel over there?” Eames says, turning Arthur towards the young man at the end of the bar. “He’s serving up mouth shots, go get him.”

 

“Alongside possible meningitis. No thank you, I’ll stick with my cocktail out of my partially clean glass.”

 

Eames groans in frustration, then pulls out another twenty and waves over the dancer, handing the bill to Arthur.

 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I’d really rather not.”

 

“I know, but you need to,” Eames says solemnly.

 

Arthur gives in and crooks his finger at the dancer. He lets the guy sway back and forth to the music for a minute, putting on a show, then tucks the bill in the back of the dancer’s shorts when he crouches in front of him. He bites his lips and smacks the dancer hard on the ass when the guy shakes it in Arthur’s face. The dancer moves on, looking flushed, but pleased.

 

“Wow,” Eames remarks, shocked and a little turned on.

 

“Well, if I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it right.” Arthur shrugs with a mischievous glint in his eye, and downs his second martini.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occured to me today that this fic is going to end up longer than 31 chapters because of the multitude of little scenes that make up the movie, so I've decided to start posting two chapters a day. Hopefully this will also motivate me to work on it more, since I keep putting it off. So enjoy another chapter!

Arthur’s in his office Monday morning, working his way through the mountain of paperwork that magically appeared over the weekend. There’s a knock on his open door and he looks up to find Mal, his supervisor, leaning in the doorway. 

 

“Do you have a moment?” She asks in her deep and musical accent.

 

“Not really, I’m up to my nose in briefs. And not the fun kind,” Arthur says, going back to his computer.

 

Mal ignores him, pushing aside a stack of files to perch on the corner of his desk. “What is wrong with men, Arthur?”

 

He leans back in his chair, knowing she’s not going to leave until she’s vented. “Well, at least it’s not a complicated question. Let me clear my calendar for the next decade and we can figure it out.”

 

“Do you have any idea what it is like to have a g-spot that no one can find?” she asks, clearly annoyed.

 

Arthur winces. “Ah, no, and I really don’t want to discuss it, either.”

 

“Being gay does not excuse you from having to deal with this.” She pokes him in the arm with her finger.

 

“I’m pretty sure it does. Besides, I’m single now too, so I have my own problems.”

 

Mal pouts. “Poor Arthur, growing ever closer to the day when your beautiful best friend will become your lover.”

 

Arthur laughs, embarrassed. “Ah, no. That’s not—you think Eames is beautiful?”

 

Mal looks at him like he’s adorable.

 

“Look, Eames has probably forgotten all about that,” Arthur says.

 

“So remind him,” Mal tells him like it’s just that simple. “And record his reaction when you do, I want to see.”

 

“I’m actually counting on him not remembering our little plan, so no.”

 

“Why? He’s a good match for you.”

 

Arthur chuckles. “Eames is not relationship material, okay? Trust me.”

 

Mal waves away his statement. “Then just sleep with him, have some fun.”

 

“I can’t do that, he’s my best friend!” Arthur balks.

 

Mal gives him a puzzled look. “So? I slept with my best friend. She was the first one to bring  me to orgasm.”

 

“Oh my god, please stop talking to me!” Arthur drops his head in his hands. ”Why are all my friends obsessed with my sex life?”

 

“Lack of sex life, Arthur,” she points out, and Arthur glares.

 

“Eames and I don’t see each other that way.”

 

“You can’t tell me you’re not his type.”

 

Arthur blows out a noisy breath. “Eames only has one type: face down.”

 

Mal throws her head back and laughs, then stands, going to the door.

 

“I think you underestimate your appeal and his desires, cherie. Just promise me you’ll keep an open mind.”

 

“Will it end this conversation and get you out of my office?” Arthur asks, letting his head thud against his desk.

 

Mal smiles. “Oui.”

 

“Then I promise.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's POV

When Arthur gets home that night, he eats dinner alone, sitting at the dining room table. He tries to watch a movie on Netflix, but his brain is fried from work and the plot is too confusing so he loses the thread of it after half an hour. He fucks around on his ipad for a bit, playing solitaire and mahjong until he decides he can get away with going to bed early and not feel pathetic about it.

 

Once his nightly ritual is done, he heads into his room, taking off his watch to set beside his phone. The drawer of his nightstand is open a crack and he can see the garish colouring of the dildo box Eames bought him. He lays back, tapping his fingers on his stomach, tempted to try it out. It’s not like he doesn’t have the time.

 

He finally gives in and opens the drawer, only to find that the cap on the bottle of lube has popped open and there’s minty slick all over everything. He mentally curses Eames for insisting on a taste test when they got back from the store, and takes everything out to clean up. He sets the dildo and the Fleshjack on his headboard while he attacks the lube with wet wipes. He’s just finishing up when his ipad start beeping with an incoming skype call.

 

“Hey, Eames,” he says, tossing the wipes and settling against the pillows. Eames is barechested, as usual, and shovelling pasta into his mouth. Arthur knows from experience he either just got home from work, or a hook-up.

 

“Darling,” Eames purrs. “Am I interrupting something?”

 

“Huh?” Arthur asks, glancing behind him to when Eames is focused and remembers the toys. “Oh, no, I was just cleaning up. Everything was covered in lube.”

 

Eames sniffs and wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “Arthur, I’m so proud.”

 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Because you opened the lube when I told you not to and it leaked! What do you want?”

 

“I just called to tell you about the glorious arse I caught tonight,” Eames says, solving that mystery. “I just can’t get enough of rimming lately, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

 

“Probably about nine inches,” Arthur quips, making Eames laugh around a mouthful of food.

 

“Stop, darling, before my heart bursts with pride! What are you up to?”

 

“I was having a nice night by myself.”

 

“I can tell,” Eames winks.

 

“Shut up. I cooked myself dinner, watched a movie I’ve been wanting to see, and I was just about to get into this big, soft bed, without some stranger snoring and farting next to me.” Arthur tells him, spreading his arms across the pillows.

 

“You sound miserable,” Eames says, gently.

 

“I am,” Arthur admits and tries to remember a time when he could actually lie to Eames. He’s not entirely sure there ever was one. From the day they met, Eames has seemed to know all the parts of him, even the ones Arthur doesn’t always know how to handle.

 

“I’m going to find you,” Eames pauses when his fork waving causes a ravioli to land on his chest. He spears it with the fork and pops it into his mouth, speaking around it. “The perfect guy.”

 

Arthur shakes his head. “No. No, no, hell no.”

 

“I’m your best friend, Arthur, who is more qualified than me to find you a man?”

 

Arthur sighs. “Your argument is compelling, and as always, disconcerting.”

 

“Trust me. I have met a lot of fantastic men over the years, and if I wasn’t a confirmed bachelor, I would have scooped one of them up myself. But my loss is your gain. I’m going to find you a husband, darling.”

 

Eames looks to pleased with himself, and Arthur knows he’s genuinely trying to help, so what else can he do but give in? 

 

“Please don’t say it’s a manhunt.”

 

“It’s a manhunt, motherfucker!” Eames shouts.

 

Arthur can’t help but laugh, and he has to admit he kind of loves the way his laughter makes Eames look proud. “I’m going to bed, I have an early morning.”

 

“Alright, just promise me one thing, pet,” Eames says, his voice quiet and warm, like he’s sitting right there beside Arthur, ready to sleep.

 

“What?”

 

“Wash up those toys, the silicone will degrade if you leave them out dirty and they weren’t chea—”

 

Arthur ends the call, but can’t help smiling. He puts his ipad down, climbs under the covers, and once the light is out and he’s settled in, he lets his mind drift, wondering, just for a minute, what having his best friend as his boyfriend would be like.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's POV
> 
> This is my attempt at writing a montage. MONTAGE!!!

The first blind date starts like this:

 

Stu is cute, and punctual, and he’s pleased with Arthur’s chosen coffee shop and the eclair that’s waiting for him when he sits down.

 

The second date starts like this:

 

Miguel is flashy, and a little more vain than Arthur thinks is warranted, but his pants are tight enough that he knows Eames wasn’t lying about anything. Arthur hands him a double decaf soy latte and asks him to tell his abuela congratulations on her ninetieth birthday.

 

The third date starts like this:

 

Kenneth is muscular and funny, and Arthur can barely get two words in edgewise, but that’s okay, because he has dimples and his foot keeps brushing Arthur’s under the table.

 

The fourth date starts like this:

 

Lyle is shy, but friendly, and he nods politely at everything Arthur says, going so far as to prop his chin on his hand and gaze adoringly across the table.

 

They all end the same way:

 

Stu calls him creepy. Miguel literally flees the table without a backwards glance. Kenneth is at least polite and tells him it isn’t going to work, and Lyle excuses himself to use the bathroom and never comes back.

 

All because Arthur likes to be prepared. Eames calls it stalking, but Arthur doesn’t care if he’s a cop, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Arthur just likes to know a little bit about the men he’s meeting, so he checks Facebook. And google's them. And reads their LinkedIn page. And maybe once or six times he’s misappropriated work resources to check for a criminal record. But Eames does that, too, so it doesn’t count. 

 

Only, apparently it does to his potential dates, who find it “unsettling” and “frightening”, or whatever. Like giving a guy his favourite flower is a bad thing. Or watching his high school lacrosse championship on YouTube is fanatical. How else is he supposed to know what to talk about on a first date?

 

He call Eames for support when it’s glaringly clear Lyle isn’t coming back from the restroom.

 

“I officially give up,” Arthur says the moment Eames picks up. “No more men.”

 

Eames laughs. “Let’s start with the mildly overdramatic and work our way back to the partially sane, shall we?”

 

“It’s like I’m repulsive to these men. And I am not repulsive, Eames! I’m a solid eight.”

 

“You’re a ten and you know it, stop pitying yourself, Arthur.”

 

“I’m never going to find someone to love me,” Arthur whines.

 

“I love you, darling, doesn’t that count for anything?” Eames asks and Arthur can’t speak, because  _ does it _ ? They’re less than a month away from his birthday and their pact, and all he wants is someone to love him. Someone he can take care of. And what if that person  _ could _ be Eames?

 

“Arthur? Are you there?” Eames calls, his voice full of worry.

 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m here. Got distracted.”

 

“By a lovely arse, I hope,” Eames quips and Arthur forces a laugh.

 

“Forearms,” Arthur corrects, dropping his head into his hand.

 

“Oh, good choice. Anyway, as I was saying, I’m clearly setting you up with the wrong men. Give me one more chance.”

 

“No, I’m done. I’m heading straight for the kennel. I’m going to pick out a little white dog and plan to spend the rest of my days alone.”

 

“Arthur,” Eames says seriously. “Think for one moment about all the dog hair you’ll get on your suits.”

 

“I’ll learn to live with it,” he insists, even though the thought alone makes him cringe.

 

“You’re a terrible liar. Come on, one more date. It’ll be good, I promise.”

 

Arthur sighs. “Fine, one more date, but on one condition, non-negotiable.”

 

“What are your terms, Counsellor?” Eames asks, mockingly.

 

“You come along.”

 

“Oh god,” Eames groans.

 

“Look, you pick out a guy for me, and I’ll bring someone for you. If you’re there, you’ll get to witness the disaster of me dating first hand. It’ll be like having tickets to a NASCAR event where you know there’s going to be a multi-car pile up.”

 

“NASCAR, Arthur, really?”

 

“I’ve had four mimosas, don’t expect me to think on my feet.”

 

“Well, as long as you’re going into it with such a positive attitude, how can I say no?”

 

“I’ll find someone great for you, I promise,” Arthur tells him.

 

Eames chuckles. “No, you won’t.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've ever wondered how many daily updates involve me posting a chapter of a fic to the wrong story, the answer is every one. Every damn day.
> 
> Eames POV

Eames lets Arthur pick the restaurant and then rolls his eyes and mocks him when he chooses the one where Kal ditched him.

 

“They have the wine I like and the dessert you like,” Arthur justifies. 

 

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that the staff has seen you dumped à la dine and dash and you have some insane need to prove that you’re not as pathetic as you think they perceive you to be?” Eames asks, draped over Arthur’s bed as he waits for Arthur to settle on a goddamn tie already.

 

Arthur discards another tie and glares at Eames in the mirror, his face flushing. “Technically it wasn’t a dine and dash. We didn’t get that far.”

 

Eames groans into Arthur’s pillow. 

 

“I’m nervous, okay? I don’t usually have an audience for dates and I know you’re never going to let me live it down when this guy runs for the hills.”

 

“He’s not going to do that, Arthur, because I am going to be there to moderate you, yeah?” he says, rolling off the bed to take Arthur’s ties away. “You don’t need one of these, it’s casual.” He pops open the top two buttons of Arthur’s shirt and spreads the fabric, his fingers ghosting over Arthur’s adam’s apple. “You’ve such a lovely neck, let’s show it off.”

 

Arthur swallows, his throat moving under Eames’ touch. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“You’re going to be calm and confident, just like I know you can be. Just pretend it’s just you and me there, okay? You’re perfect when it’s just the two of us.”

 

“I can’t act like that with strangers,” Arthur insists, his voice low and dry. “With you, I’m different.”

 

Eames smiles, his fingers still grazing Arthur’s neck because it’s soft and lovely, and Eames can’t seem to stop. “Tell you what, if you don’t go home with anyone, neither will I.”

 

Arthur snorts. “Yeah,  _ okay _ .”

 

“I’m serious,” Eames says, a little put out. “If you don’t like him, or it doesn’t work out, you and I will come back here and binge watch cheesy holiday made for tv movies. I’ll even let you get me drunk and sloppy”

 

“You hardly need me for that,” Arthur says, but the fondness in his gaze softens the jab.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Arthur,” Eames tells him, taking hold of Arthur’s hands. “You’re amazing, and any guy worth his salt will see that. You’re smart, and funny, and sexy as hell. Just don’t get ahead of yourself and you’ll be fine.”

 

“Right, I can do that,” Arthur nods and squeezes Eames’ fingers. “Into the breach.”

 

When they get to the restaurant, Arthur’s date, Jorge, is already seated. He stands and smiles when he sees Eames, and he shakes both their hands. He can tell by the color in Arthur’s cheeks that he’s done well with this one. He knows Jorge from work, and he’s someone Eames hasn’t slept with, so he’s confident he’ll get Arthur’s approval.

 

Eames decides his own date is a bust when he shows up in jeans and a button down that’s at least two sizes too big. He has no idea where Arthur found him, because as his his best friend, he should know that Eames has standards. Shaun looks like he’s probably a barista, but he says he’s an actor. So definitely a barista then. He wonders, briefly, if Arthur put any effort into his selection at all.

 

“This place has the best stuffed mushrooms,” Jorge says.

 

“Oh, I love those,” Arthur smiles. “I had them the last time I was…”

 

Eames sees it happening, but can do nothing to stop Arthur’s words as his smile slips away and his shoulders slump.

 

“When my date decided to ditch me,” he finishes, leaving awkward silence in his wake.

 

Eames closes his eyes, but Jorge brushes it off and tells Arthur he hopes tonight goes better for him. It’s sweet, and encouraging, and now Eames remembers why he hasn’t slept with him. 

 

Arthur raises his wine glass. “He’s to not being dumped tonight.”

 

“Wow, my apologies, gentlemen,” Eames forces a laugh. “Arthur is a romantic at heart and feels everything deeply. But trust me when I tell you it has it’s benefits.”

 

Jorge give him a puzzled look and Shaun squirms in his seat.

 

“So you two have…” Shaun trails off.

 

“No!” Arthur chokes out, spraying droplets of red wine onto the tablecloth. “No, god no.”

 

“Ta, darling,” Eames tells him, a little wounded.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Arthur assures him. “Eames and I have been best friends for twenty years, no one knows me better.”

 

Eames breathes a sigh of relief when Jorge draws Arthur into a conversation about something Eames could care less about, and he smiles at Shaun and takes a drink. Shaun is staring at him, his knee jumping under the table.

 

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Shaun asks, loud enough that Arthur and Jorge stop talking. “Grindr?” he clarifies when Eames doesn’t answer.

 

Shit.

 

“I tried to message you a couple time, but, ah, you never responded.”

 

Arthur’s foot presses on top of Eames’ as Eames inwardly flails for a polite response.

 

“I’m sorry,” Eames smiles, leaning forward and trying to head off any more drama. “I’m not very good with technology. Just a simple farm boy,” he says, chuckling.

 

“Oh yeah? Where you from?” Shaun asks sharply and drains his beer.

 

Eames clears his throat. “London.”

 

Shaun puts his elbows on the table. “So how was the harvest in Westminster this season?”

 

Eames blinks rapidly. What the fuck is wrong with this guy? There are over a quarter of a million gay men in the Los Angeles area and this guy has to remember Eames as one that shot him down?

 

“I’m originally from Columbia,” Jorge tells them, trying to get the date back on track, and bless him, really, because Shaun finally stops glaring at Eames. “My parents are farmers. Organic coffee trade.”

 

Eames smiles. “There’s no such thing as organic coffee.”

 

“It’s just a marketing ploy to drive up the cost of beans,” Arthur chimes in, setting his empty wine glass on the table.

 

“My family’s in the coffee business, too,” Shaun says, turning to Jorge and pointedly ignoring Arthur and Eames. “We sell espresso machines, and roasted beans. Mostly  _ organic _ .” He shoots a glare at Eames.

 

Eames grimaces and takes a drink. He  _ knew _ Shaun was a barista.

 

“What’s your family name?” Jorge asks.

 

“Fiori,” Shaun tells him.

 

“I’ve heard that name before,” Jorge says happily. “I think my family supplies your beans.”

 

“Get out of here!” Shaune lays his hand on Jorge’s arm and Eames feels Arthur tense up.

 

“I’m a total coffee whore,” Arthur blurts. “Double decaf soy latte, extra foam, extra hot. You don’t want to know what I’d do for one of those in the morning before work.” He lets out a little laugh, but it’s strained and high and Eames wants to grab him and hide under the table.

 

Instead, he laughs along. “And you said that was just a little vanilla froth at the corner of your mouth the other day.”

 

“Hey, what goes on between my barista and me is my business,” Arthur jokes weakly and Eames plays up his laugh, smacking the table with his palm. It’s desperate and sad, and he’s not at all surprised at the twin looks of disdain from the other side of the table.

 

“So, how ‘bout those Dodgers?” Eames tries.

 

“I don’t really follow sports,” Jorge responds.

 

“Yeah, sports are what straight guys talk about when they have nothing interesting to say, right?” Shaun laughs and Arthur makes a strangled noise.

 

Jorge and Shaun go back to discussing coffee beans and Arthur leans closer to Eames. “Give me a minute and I’ll use a breadstick to make a shiv. I’ll go first, then you.”

 

“Do you think they’d notice if we just left?” Eames whispers, watching the hesitant touches the two men are sharing grow bolder.

 

“I’ve always wanted to be the guy that leave,” Arthur hisses excitedly.

 

“Arthur,” he scolds quietly. “That is horrible thing to do to your date.”

 

“I know, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

 

“I didn’t say we shouldn’t do it, I just said it was a horrible thing, which is what makes it so fun.” Eames waggles his eyebrows and Arthur lights up. Eames gets up and simply walks away from the table, smirking at Arthur fumbling along behind him. Jorge and Shaun don’t even notice.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV
> 
> Gentle reminder that this fic contains our boys with other partners occasionally. Also, I lost count of how many times I fell asleep in front of my computer while editing and posting thls, so there more be more errors than usual. Sorry about that.

They head back to Eames’ house since it closer, and Arthur’s feeling drained by the time they arrive. There are only so many bad dates a guy can take.

 

“This night needs to end with a stiff drink,” Eames declared, making his way to the fireplace mantle, where he keeps his liquor. There are clothes discarded all over the apartment, empty bottles and takeout containers on every surface. “Scotch?”

 

“Nah, I have a meeting in the morning,” Arthur tells him, looking around.

 

“Come now, darling, stay for a while. You don’t have to rush home to your bedside boyfriend.”

 

“Bedside...the dildo?” Arthur balks, but takes the scotch Eames hands him. He scrinches his nose at the smudges on the glass. “You know, I could send my cleaning lady over, if you want. She only charges seventy-five a visit and she’ll bring her own napalm.”

 

Eames rolls his eyes and fills his own drink. “I made a path to the couch, that counts for something, right?”

 

Arthur watches Eames sink onto the sofa and smiles.. “You need someone to take care of you.”

 

“No, I need to hire a maid,” Eames argues.

 

Arthur frowns at the brush off, but now that the idea is in his head, he can’t let it go. “Everyone needs someone, what are you afraid of?”

 

“Being nagged to death about being single,” Eames grumbles into his glass.

 

“Eames,” 

 

“Give me your phone,” Eames demands, getting to his feet to fish it out of Arthur’s back pocket. “We need to find you a man so you can leave me alone.” He fiddles with the phone, then holds it up. “Alright, take your shirt off.”

 

“What?” Arthur laughs.

 

“Take your shirt off,” Eames repeats, slowly.

 

“No, you are not putting half naked pictures of me on the internet,” Arthur tells him, his face burning.

 

“It’s not the internet, it’s an app and everyone does it.”

 

“I’m not everyone,” Arthur argues.

 

“Which is why you have no one,” Eames snaps, looking immediately regretful. “Look, what you’ve been doing clearly isn’t working. You need to try something different if you expect a change.”

 

“How do you do it?” Arthur asks, feeling lost.

 

“Very well, and often on all fours,” Eames leers, making him laugh. “Trust me, it’s better than being alone.”

 

“I’m really not comfortable with this.”

 

“It’s all about advertising, darling. If you want to catch a fish, you have to show them your worm.”

 

“That’s not how that saying goes.”

 

Eames groans and stomps his foot. “Arthur, stop being such a stick in the mud! You have nothing to be ashamed of, you’re fit, and fine, and what’s in your trousers is quite admirable.”

 

“I don’t think anyone has ever called my penis admirable before,” Arthur says.

 

“I was talking about your arse, but your cock is splendid, too,” Eames grins. “Now, take off your shirt.”

 

“The shirt stays on, non-negotiable,” Arthur tells him, trying to fix his hair.

 

“Leave it, it looks all mussed from bed. It’s appealing.”

 

Arthur shakes out his shoulders and fights the urge to push his hair off his forehead.

 

An hour later, Arthur is tucked into bed with his ipad, trying to figure out how to delete the app Eames installed. The picture he used makes Arthur look like some young, eager, ingenue, and his profile is, well, the profile is actually pretty good. Eames has clearly done this before. 

 

The ipad beeps and Arthur gets a message telling him someone has tagged his profile. When he accepts the tag, a picture of a very pretty young man pops up. His name is Hunter and his dark eyes are smouldering, even in the picture.

 

The messages start almost right away. 

 

_ Hi, I’m Hunter. Want to hang out? _

 

_ You could come over. _

 

“Wow,” Arthur mutters. He checks his watch for the time, and it’s a little before he usually goes to bed, and he’s already brushed his teeth and put on his sweats.

 

_ I think you’re beautiful. _

 

Arthur smiles to himself and makes up his mind. Eames said he needs to try something different, and heading over to some guy’s house at ten thirty on a work night is definitely different.

 

He tells Hunter he’ll be there in half an hour and goes to get dressed.

 

Hunter lives in an apartment over someone’s garage and Arthur hurries up the stairs before he can second guess his decision. 

 

“Cute,” Hunter says when he opens the door. “I like the Abercrombie meets Log-Cabin-Republican thing you got going on.”

 

Arthur laughs nervously. “I have to tell you I’ve never done this kind of thing before.”

 

“And what kind of thing is that?” Hunter asks, slumping artfully against the doorframe.

 

“Meet up with a guy I don’t know in the middle of the night,” he says in a rush.

 

Hunter smiles. “What do you think so far?”

 

“I’m nervous,” Arthur admits and Hunter laughs, but it’s friendly, not mocking.

 

“You’re adorable. You wanna come in?”

 

Arthur takes a deep breath. “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

 

Hunter cocks his head to the side and squints. “Do you really think that if I was, I’d answer that question with a yes? Feel like taking your chances?”

 

Arthur nods enthusiastically. “I wasn’t planning on letting you know I’m this neurotic until much later.”

 

Hunter shrugs, his eyes travelling up and down Arthur’s body. “Cat’s out of the bag now. Offer still stands.”

 

Arthur steps forward and Hunter falls gracefully through the door and into a small living room. It’s all very artsy in a way that feels sloppy, but inaccessible to Arthur. Hunter folds himself onto a low couch in front of a coffee table with a red bong, and pats the cushion beside him. Arthur wipes his hands on his jeans and takes the chair adjacent.

 

Hunter smiles and slides to the end of the couch so their knees are touching. “Can I get you a drink?”

 

“I’m fine,” Arthur assures him.

 

“Hit?” Hunter asks, picking up a lighter.

 

“I’m good, but you go ahead.” Arthur hasn’t tried drugs since that one time in high school when Eames had fed him a pot brownie and then howled while Arthur ran around the football field in his underwear. He’s definitely not looking to repeat that performance tonight.

 

Hunter fills a smaller pipe and lights it, taking his time to hold in the smoke. He breathes it out through his nose, smiling at Arthur.

 

“You sure?”

 

“Completely,” Arthur tells him.

 

Hunter smirks and puts it down, leaning forward and stripping off his shirt. His arms and torso are covered in stars and birds, and there’s a strip of musical notes over his ribs.

 

“So what happens now?” Arthur asks.

 

Hunter leans back and looks at Arthur from beneath his lashes. “Whatever you want. I don’t bite...much.”

 

Arthur bites his lip and drags his gaze over Hunter’s exposed skin. He’s lithe, toned. Smaller than Arthur, but he looks strong.

 

“Sure I can’t change your mind about that drink?” Hunter asks, scratching just below his left nipple.

 

Arthur shifts in his seat, his dick starting to take interest. “Make it a double.”

 

Hunter springs to his feet, scooting between Arthur and the coffee table so his stomach is nearly pressed to Arthur’s face as he moves by. Arthur wants to grab his hips and hold him there, rub his face on the wiry hair trailing into the waistband of Hunter’s pants. But he’s not that brave, and then Hunter’s gone, heading into the kitchen for Arthur’s drink.

 

As soon as he’s out of sight, Arthur facetimes Eames.

 

Eames answers, smiling. “Hello darling, what’s up?”

 

“I took your advice,” Arthur whispers.

 

Eames frowns. “Arthur, where are you?”

 

“I’m at this seriously hot guy’s house,” he chitters, feeling giddy.

 

“Excuse me?” Eames says, picking up his phone so Arthur’s no longer staring up his nostrils.

 

“This is so hot,” Arthur goes on. “His name is Hunter.”

 

“Sure it is, Arthur—”

 

“Here he comes, I gotta go,” Arthur hisses and disconnects the call.

 

“Was that your backup plan?” Hunter asks, sliding in front of him again and handing him a glass.

 

“Oh, no, that was just my buddy. He always calls me whenever he meets a hot guy, so I figured I’d return the favor.”

 

“Well, I’m flattered,” Hunter says sweetly.

 

Arthur’s phone starts to vibrate on the table, Eames’ popping up on the screen. Hunter raises his eyes at the picture and Arthur flushes because Eames is mostly naked and stretched across Arthur’s bed, and it’s times like these he really regrets giving Eames a key.

 

“Um, I’ll just be a minute,” Arthur says and stumbles toward the kitchen. “What do you want?” Arthur hisses into the phone.

 

“What are you doing?” Eames demands.

 

“I’m taking your advice. Meet people, have fun, remember? Look, I don’t want to be rude, I’ll call you later.” 

 

“Hey, wait—”

 

“Eames,  _ later _ !” Arthur ends the call and goes back to the living room. “I’m so sorry about that.”

 

“It’s fine, it was sweet. Now, if there’s no one else you’d like to call up at midnight, are you ready to get to know each other?” Hunter asks, slipping his hand onto Arthur’s thigh.

 

Arthur’s pulse jumps and his hands shake a little. This isn’t...he can’t just...it’s not how he operates. “Do you mind if we just hang out tonight?”

 

Hunter looks surprised, but it drops away quickly and he smiles. “Yeah, sure, I’m up for whatever.”

 

“Are you sure?” Arthur asks, worried Hunter is going to ask him to leave.

 

“Arthur, I’m not going to ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. It’s fine, we can hang out,” Hunter assures him, picking up his shirt. “I just assumed this was what you wanted.”

 

“Oh, I’m not really...like that,” Arthur tries to explain.

 

“Me neither,” Hunter says, dropping the shirt in his lap. “I’m really just a simple, romantic, homebody. I’m good with just hanging out tonight.”

 

“That’s very nice of you,” Arthur smiles, shy and pleased. “You seem like a really great guy.”

 

Hunter shrugs. “I do.”

 

“You know,” Arthur says, reaching out to stop Hunter from putting on his shirt. He bites his lip, willing himself to take a chance, to not overthink this. “If you wanted to put your hand on my leg again, I won’t freak out, I promise.”

 

Hunter raises his eyebrows and grins, sliding his hand over Arthur’s knee and inching upwards when Arthur doesn’t stop him. It feels good, it feels intimate, and if Arthur doesn’t think too hard, it feels like something he can handle. Haunter’s hand is warm, and firm, and he’s giving Arthur serious fuck me eyes. When his hand runs out of leg, Hunter starts to rub, working his fingers against the denim covering Arthur’s crotch, and that, that feels amazing. Heat and friction, and the tiny voice in the back of his head telling him it’s outside the box he lives in has Arthur surging forward and pressing Hunter into the cushions of the couch. They kiss, wet and deep, and by the time his pants come off, Arthur finds he’s not thinking much at all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said two chapters a day, but this one is almost 1500 words, so there will only be one today. Fair warning that the chapters are about to start getting super short. I will do my best, but the rest of the movie is small, quick scenes and I can only add so much commentary before it feels overdone.
> 
> Eames POV
> 
> Feelings and a side of angst.

Eames and Ari are finishing up in the locker room before their shift when Arthur’s work number flashes on his screen.

 

“What happen to you?” Eames demands in lieu of a greeting. “You didn’t call me back last night.”

 

“It’s Malorie,” a woman tells him dismissively. “Do you know where Arthur is?”

 

Eames’ stomach swoops with apprehension. “Did you try him at home?”

 

“It’s a wonder you’re not a detective yet,” Mal scoffs.

 

“I haven’t seen him since last night,” Eames says through clenched teeth, trying to keep his anger at bay because he knows it’s not going to help.

 

“He had a client meeting at nine thirty and he missed it. Arthur never misses meetings.”

 

“Shit,” he mutters, meeting Ari’s worried eyes. “Let me go check in on him and I’ll call you back when I get there.”

 

“Thank you,” Mal says and hangs up.

 

“I’ll get the car and meet you out front,” Ari tells him, hurrying out the door.

 

Twenty minutes later, Eames is banging on Arthur’s front door, his heart in his throat. “Arthur! Arthur, are you there?”

 

“Don’t you have a key?” Ari asks.

 

“I don’t want to just barge in if he’s in there, he doesn’t like that,” Eames explains, losing his patience.

 

“Is there a problem, officers?” Arthur’s neighbors asks, peeking through the Judas window in the center of his door.

 

“No, sir, we’re just responding to a call,” Eames tells him. “You know Arthur?”

 

“I do,” the man says, opening the door. “Quiet fella, but nice. Always says hello. Smells good, too. What’d he do?”

 

Ari raises her eyebrows at Eames and then smiles at the man. “He didn’t do anything, we’re just checking in on him. Did you happen to see him last night, sir?”

 

“Nope, don’t think he came home or I would have heard him. I hear everything,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Even with this bad ear, I catch it all.”

 

Eames and Ari share another look.

 

“Let me know if you need my help,” he adds, slinking back through his door. “I’m a vigilante, you know.”

 

The door closes and Eames gets out his keys, letting them into Arthur’s apartment. Ari lets out a low whistle and immediately starts poking through Arthur’s things.

 

“Who’s his roommate, Mr. Clean?”

 

Eames ignores her and checks the kitchen. There are dishes in the dry rack and no signs of a struggle, but Eames doesn’t feel any relief because he still doesn’t know where Arthur is.

 

“A decanter, crystal glasses? A silver martini shaker? Who does he entertain here, James Bond?” Ari snickers.

 

“He likes nice things, it’s not a crime,” Eames snaps, annoyed at her judgement of Arthur. “Enough with the running commentary, can you just see if you can find anything, please?”

 

“Like what, dust? Good luck with that.”

 

Eames stomps into the bedroom, and the fact that Arthur’s bed doesn’t look slept in is no help, because he knows it would look that way five minutes after Arthur rolled out of it anyway. When they were kids, Arthur used to change his sheets when Eames would stay over, even though Eames slept on an air mattress on the floor.

 

The bathroom is neatly organized and the shower tiles and Arthur’s toothbrush are dry, so Eames returns to the living room where Ari is looking at the picture of he and Arthur that Eames gave him last week.

 

“He didn’t come home last night,” Eames announces.

 

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

 

“Famous last words before they find his body in a bin,” Eames says, and he’s itchy, somewhere deep beneath his skin that he has no hope of reaching. It’s making him jumpy and short, but Ari lays a hand on his arm.

 

“Eames, relax.”

 

“We need to put an APB out, now. We need to get more people out there looking for him.”

 

“Okay, before we sound the alarm, let’s go by his office and see what we can find,” she says, and Eames know it makes sense and that she’s right, but this is Arthur.  _ His Arthur _ , who could be out there, hurt. “One quick stop and then we’ll do whatever you think is best, okay?”

 

Eames nods, his gut clenched painfully. “Okay.”

 

He watches the streets as Ari drives them to Arthur’s office, scanning faces for the one he knows so well, but there’s no Arthur.

 

Eames’ phone starts to vibrate as they get off the elevator at Arthur’s floor, and it’s the office number again. He hurries down the hall, his heart skipping a beat when he sees Arthur through the window, looking disheveled, but alive.

 

“See?” Ari says quietly. “I told you he was fine.

 

“Was he here the whole time?” Eames demands.

 

Mal hangs up the phone, giving him an unimpressed look. “He just arrived, which is why I was calling you.”

 

“Hey, I’m standing right here,” Arthur huffs.

 

Eames takes a breath and reminds himself that Arthur being found is a good thing. The best thing, really. “Mal called and said you didn’t come into work, and you weren’t answering your phone.”

 

“I just came in a little late,” Arthur says, glaring at Mal. “You really didn’t have to call Eames.”

 

“Don’t blame me,” Mal tells him, her eyes on Ari. “My, how this day has taken a turn for the better. Bonjour, I’m Malorie, but you may call me Mal. Or Madame.” She extends her hand and slinks her way across the room. “Tell me, Bambi, are you a muffer?”

 

“Ariadne,” Ari says, taking Mal’s hand with a smile. “And I am.”

 

Arthur rolls his eye as the women leave the office to huddle next to a filing cabinet in the hall.

 

“Where were you?” Eames asks, putting his hands on his hips to stop himself from touching Arthur. Eames is relieved he’s is okay, but he’s still pissed about being made to worry. “I thought something happened.”

 

“Something did,” Arthur tells him, his cheeks going pink. “But I have a ton of work to catch up on, so the details will have to wait until later.”

 

“Are you bloody serious?” Eames thunders and Mal and Ari look up from their confab. “What the hell were you thinking, going to some strange guy’s house in the middle of the night for a hook up?”

 

“It was your idea! I’m trying new things, plus, you do it all the time!” Arthur hisses.

 

“It’s different for me,” Eames insists, forcing himself to lower his voice even though he wants to rant and rave and shake Arthur until he’s sure he’s safe.

 

“How?” Arthur demands, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against his desk.

 

“I’m a cop, I can defend myself if something happens. Unlike you.”

 

Arthur’s eyes go cold. “Fuck you.”

 

Eames pinches the bridge of his nose and wills himself to calm down. He takes a step closer to Arthur and makes sure to soften his voice. “Arthur, I know men, okay? Some of them are absolute terrors and I see what they are capable of on a daily basis. Darling, if anything ever happened to you…   
  


Arthur lets his arms drop and lowers his gaze. “Look, I appreciate your concern, really I do, but I can take care of myself. I don’t need you to protect me, Eames.”

 

Eames feels like he’s been slapped, and it must show on his face because Arthur pulls him into a hug, carding his fingers through Eames’ hair and rubbing his back, just how Eames likes.

 

“I have to get to work,” Arthur whispers. “Can we fight about this later?”

 

Eames clears his throat and forces himself to let Arthur go. “I suppose.”

 

“Eames,” Arthur says before Eames can clear the door. “Thank you. For worrying about me.”

 

Eames nods and heads back down the hall, freeing Ari from Mal’s clutches as he goes. Eames groans as he gets into the squad car, leaning his head back and wishing for a mulligan on the whole damn day.

 

“So what’s the deal with Mal?” Ari asks brightly.

 

“Oh my god, no.”

 

“Why not? She’s smoking hot and very interested in yours truly.”

 

Eames whines. “No. No, no, no, no.”

 

“I kind of felt like a piece of meat she wanted to chew up and spit out,” Ari says. “I think I dig it.”

 

“You cannot be serious. A woman like that is never satisfied, she’ll eat you alive.”

 

“That sounds like an excellent way to go,” Ari snickers and Eames scrunches up his face with displeasure. “So, what happened with Arthur? Things seemed a little heated in there.”

 

Eames closes his eyes and lets his head drop back again. “He hooked up with some guy last night.”

 

“That’s great, your plan worked.”

 

“Yeah,” Eames says, feeling hollow. “I guess it did.”

 

“You should be happy, you’re off the hook now,” Ari points out, and Eames wants to hate her, really he does, but he can’t because he knows she’s still being gentle with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mal calling Ariadne "Bambi" is a reference to the French phrase "La sexualité Bambi", which means a physical interaction revolving mostly around touching, kissing and fondling. Mal asking her if she's a "muffer" is her asking if Ariadne is a muff diver, or goes down on women. Let it never be said that Mal is coy.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was wrong about this going to 30 chapters. It's going to be more like 23 or 24. Now, I can either keep posting two chapters a day, which means the last one(s) will be posted on the 16th or 17th, depending on how much I can add to the story as I go. OR I can go back to one chapter a day and it will see us through to the 21st or so. Let me know which you prefer in the comments, please!
> 
> Oh, and this chapter is Eames POV and he has feelings.

Eames limps into the gym at the precinct two weeks later, bleary eyed and hungover. The previous night, he’d taken the new recruits to the local Irish pub to celebrate the end of their first week. It occurred to him, halfway through the festivities, that he was perhaps getting a little old to drink all night and still function the next day, and clearly, the only thing to do was drink harder and prove himself wrong. Too bad his logic didn’t hold steady in the light of day. The skull-crushing, soul-piercing light of day.

 

“Have fun?” Ari asks from the leg press.

 

“I’ve reached a point in my life where I don’t know what’s worse, the Irish bars or the gay ones,” Eames grumbles, sitting heavily on a weight bench.

 

“I guess it depends on what you’re looking for at the end of the rainbow,” Ari says with a wink as Eames gives in and lays down on the bench.

 

“At this point I would settle for a well-hung leprechaun. Or an antacid,” he tells her with a wince.

 

“That’s why I’m glad I’m dating again, none of the next morning regret and I’m in bed by 10pm.”

 

“If I’m ever in bed by 10pm, please shoot me.”

 

“I could shoot you now, put you out of your misery,” Ari offers, taking a drink from her water bottle.

 

“Would you?” Eames asks, perking up.

 

Ari laughs. “No, Arthur would be upset, and that would upset Mal, which wouldn’t bode well for me. I’m telling you, Eames, these past two weeks have been great. And the sex is amazing. Which reminds me, I need more pepper spray.”

 

“I don’t even want to know, and that’s saying something,” Eames says. His head is throbbing slightly less at this angle, so he’s careful not to move. “But speaking of two weeks, that’s how long Arthur’s been dating this new boyfriend of his, and I am patiently waiting for him to get dumped again so my life can return to normal.”

 

“You can’t actually want him to get dumped,” Ari accuses.

 

“I don’t, I just want him to be happy. But not with this guy.”

 

“Not with any guy but you, you mean.”

 

Eames glares. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, I wish Arthur would get it through his head that he doesn’t need a partner to be happy, he’s perfectly fine on his own.”

 

“And if that benefits you, so be it, right?”

 

“Right,” Eames nods and almost falls off the bench.

 

Ari squirts her bottle at him and Eames flails, landing on the mat with a grunt. “You’re an asshole, Eames. So what if Arthur is great on his own? He wants a partner, and that’s what matters. He wants someone to take care of and share his life with; if you don’t want to get your head out of your ass and see that’s what you want, too, don’t you dare be pissed off when he finds it with someone else.”

 

Eames gapes at her from the floor because that is not at all...it’s prosperous is what it is. Eames doesn’t want Arthur that way. He  _ doesn’t _ . He wants Arthur to get the caring, honest partner he deserves. Someone who enjoys all the little details Arthur is so fussy about, and who appreciates the work that goes into Arthur’s demonstrations of affection. A man who will be there for Arthur, no matter what, and who doesn’t get scared off when Arthur goes into his manic mode, because it’s not that he thinks the guy is going to bolt, he just needs reassurance that he’s enough. Why can no one ever see that?

 

Ari is gone and Eames is still a wet mess on the floor, but he’s inclined to stay there because his head hurts, and now so does his heart. He’s been tempted to bring up their contract, but when he’s with Arthur everything is so easy, and he doesn’t want to mess that up. What if Arthur doesn’t remember it? What if he laughs in Eames’ face. He’d been so desperate the night he’d written it, and now he’s even further out of Eames’ league than he was then. He won’t want to settle down with a cop, someone with as unpredictable a schedule as his and who’s slept with half the men in the county. 

 

But most of all, Eames is afraid of how much he wants it. How much the thought of coming home to Arthur, to going to bed with him and waking up to him, just like when they were kids, appeals to him. But this wouldn’t just be a sleepover. This is serious. This is a lifetime commitment to be with Arthur. This is love on whole other scale, and he’s not sure he has it in him. Eames wants so much, but the last thing he’ll ever do is chance hurting Arthur.

 

Eventually, Ari takes pity on him and comes back to peels him off the floor. They have lunch and she tells him with brutal honesty that if he misses Arthur, he should go see him. He doesn’t need to figure the rest of his life out just to see his best friend.

 

So Eames picks up Chinese food and some of the craft beer Arthur favours, and surprises him at this apartment. He walks in to low lighting and a table set to perfection.

 

“Eames!” Arthur smiles, coming over to kiss him on the cheek.

 

“I thought it would be nice to surprise you with dinner,” Eames says, looking around at the spotless apartment and the wine glasses on the table.

 

“That’s actually a really nice surprise,” Arthur tells him. “But I already have plans.”

 

“I can see that,” Eames says, keeping his tone light. “Are you having Liberace over for dinner?”

 

Arthur rubs the back of his neck and crinkles his nose at the candelabra on the table. “It’s Hunter’s first time coming over tonight. I wanted to do something special.”

 

Jealousy spikes in Eames heart, but Arthur sounds unsure, and he’s still his best friend, no matter what, so he chooses the high road and smiles, walking backward towards the door. “We can do something another night.”

 

“You know you don’t have to go, right?” Arthur tells him. “I’ve missed you, and I’m sure Hunter would be glad to meet you.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling, you know I don’t do threesomes,” Eames jokes, something sharp twisting in his gut.

 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Since when?”

 

Silence stretches between them, and it’s not uncomfortable, but it feels loaded, full of words not said.

 

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Arthur asks, and his voice is small again, embarrassed and unsure.

 

“What? No!,” Eames insists, unable to keep from stepping toward him. “It’s ridiculous and over the top, but it’s you, and that’s what I think is so nice about it.” Arthur smiles and Eames can’t help but go on. “Other guys might find it terrifying, but I...I think it’s wonderful.”

 

“You like that about me?” Arthur asks, his cheeks flushing a delightful pink.

 

“That you’re bonkers? Yes, it makes me feel more...normal. Like as long as we’re both still crazy, we’ll never be alone,” Arthur gives him a soft look and Eames realizes he’s way too close to saying something he’s not ready to admit so he heads back to the door. “Look, finish getting ready, and we’ll do something tomorrow.”

 

“Happy hour?” Arthur offers and Eames nods, slipping out the door.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eames POV
> 
> There be angst here.

He sits in his car outside Arthur’s house, eating cold cashew chicken and feeling sorry for himself. Maybe he can lurk out here until Hunter shows up, and then he’ll know what he’s up against. Except no, because he’s an adult, and he doesn’t even know what he would want to outcome of that battle to be. He’s happy being single and screwing around, it’s felt like his mission in life for longer than he can remember. But what he wants when he looks at Arthur isn’t about just sex. It’s about all the moments in between the orgasms. It’s about taking their friendship and turning it into something even better. Something solid and lasting. 

 

But Arthur’s seeing Hunter, and that’s who is going to get the chance at happiness, not him. His phone dings, startling him out of his misery. A guy named Stone has found him on Grindr and his slim build and seductive brown eyes are only five minutes away. Eames puts away the food and turns on his car, desperate to feel nothing for a hour.

 

Stone opens the door to his above garage apartment and nearly drags Eames in by his belt loops. “You want a drink?” he asks, leaning in close.

 

Eames smirks. “I see you’ve done this before.” 

 

“Once or twice,” Stone admits.

 

“So how do you want to do this?” Eames asks, already undoing his shirt buttons.

 

Stone whips his shirt off over his head. “Quickly, I have dinner in an hour.”

 

“I make an excellent appetizer,” Eames informs him, and then they’re kissing and it’s so easy and familiar that Eames can let himself forget all the stress in his life. All the feelings and uncertainty, and just lose himself in the body of this stranger.

 

They make it to the bed, Stone climbing on top and grinding down on Eames even though they both still have their jeans on. Stone’s cell phone start vibrating in his pocket, sending tendrils of pleasure through Eames’ groin..

 

“Ignore it,” Stone tells him between kisses. “It’s probably my date tonight, he’s obsessive compulsive.”

 

Eames slides his hand under the waistband of Stones’ jeans and squeezes. “How terrible.”

 

“I know, right?” Stone picks up the pace while the phone vibrates again, and again, the motion getting to be too much now that Eames is fully hard.

 

Eames pulls away. “It’s throwing me off, just get it.”

 

Stone rolls his eyes. “I’ll send it to voicemail.” He digs his phone out of his pocket, tilting it away from Eames to silence the call, but it starts vibrating again and slips out of his hand, landing face up on Eames chest. When he looks down, a picture of a grinning Arthur is staring back at him.

 

“What the fuck?” Eames shouts, pushing Stone off him. “Please tell me your name is not Hunter.”

 

“No, of course not,” Stone laughs and Eames relaxes. “Hunter’s my hookup name, like Stone is.”

 

“Oh, fuck me!” Eames leaps off the bed, pulling at his hair.

 

“Sure, if you want me to top,” Hunter/Stone/Whatever his name is, coos.

 

“I meant as in goddamn it,” Eames clarifies, glaring.

 

“What’s the problem?”

 

“I very much wanted you to be a nice guy,” Eames tells him, his hands shaking. “I really did.

 

“I am a nice guy,” he says, apparently unable to read Eames distress.

 

Eames throws his hands up in the air. “I have to leave.”

 

“Dude, chill out, this is not a big deal,” Whatshisface tells him, following him to the front door.

 

“Actually, it is. Arthur is my  _ best friend _ , and he is going to shit a brick when he finds out that I hooked up with his boyfriend.” Eames wants to bash his head against the door. He kind of really wants to bash Whosits head against the door, too, while he’s at it.

 

“Whoa, I’m not his boyfriend,” Dumbass laughs, and Eames is eternally grateful that his gun      is safely at home when he’s sees red and whips around. “Arthur’s a nice guy and a decent lay, but that’s about where it ends, okay? I don’t owe him anything.”

 

His words are so  blasé , and Eames knows he’s a hypocrite, but he has a serious urge to put this pissant’s head through a wall. “Don’t make me knock you out,” Eames warns.

 

“Hey, you’re in my house,remember?” the sleazy bastard snaps. 

 

“Look, this is what’s going to happen. You go have dinner with Arthur, and you don’t mention any of this.  _ This _ never happened.” Eames says.

 

“I really think you should leave. Now.” The ponce puts his hand on Eames’ shoulder, trying to shove him towards the door, but Eames knocks it away.

 

“I’m not finished,” he growls.

 

“Yes, you are, and if you don’t leave, I’ll call the cops.”

 

Eames gives him a feral smile, pushing into his space. “I am a cop.”

 

Dicksnipe actually laughs. “You’re kidding me, right? You? Well, if that’s the case, I guess I’ll just call Arthur and tell him I just hooked up with his best friend, the cop.”

 

Eames stills, his heart thundering because no. No, no, no, no. That cannot happen. Arthur can’t find out about this, Eames never wants to be the cause of Arthur being hurt.

 

“I’ll go,” he swears. “But I need you to promise you won’t be an arse to Arthur, okay? Go have dinner with him and say nothing about this, I am asking you nicely.”

 

“But I’m not a nice guy, remember?” Shitstain sneers. “And the longer you stand here threatening me, the better chance there is that I’ll tell Arthur all of this.”

 

“Okay, I’m going,” Eames says, hands up. He steps outside and the door slams behind him, the sound of the deadbolt loud and final in the evening air


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all so wonderfully lovely! I will go back to one chapter a day, but there is a day coming up that will have two, only because one of them is under 500 words and I'm not that mean. Cheers!
> 
> Arthur's POV and maybe some hope on the heart-front?

Once dinner’s in the oven, Arthur jumps in the shower. He’s meticulous, as usual, but the can’t help but feel like tonight is special, and that warrants a little extra preparation. He trims his bush and works himself open a little so they can get started as soon as they’re done eating. So far, Hunter has bottomed, but Arthur is more than ready to switch it up, and he hoped being ready to go will help seal the deal. Not that Hunter needs much incentive, he’s usually pawing at Arthur’s clothes the minute he steps inside.

 

He picks his clothing carefully, nothing too fancy or tight since Hunter is more careless with fine fabrics than he is and Arthur doesn’t want another repeat of last Thursday’s seam ripping. It had been hot, but expensive.

 

The light on his phone is blinking when he gets out and he sits on the edge of the bed in his towel, excitement thrumming under his skin. Reading the text is like being drenched in cold water and he nearly drops the phone.

 

_ Not coming 2nite _

_ Not N2 it NEmor _

_ Thnx 4 a gd time _

 

Eames was right, there are worse things than being ditched at a restaurant, and one of those things is being dumped by text.  _ By text! _ What the fuck? Who does that? The saddest thing is that Arthur can’t even say he’s surprised. He knew Hunter would leave him eventually, just like every other guy he’s dated. It was only a matter of time. Everyone leaves him. Everyone but Eames.

 

The phone is ringing in his ear, and Arthur’s pretty sure it’s muscle memory by now, that his body knows to call Eames when he’s hurting. Eames doesn’t pick up right away and Arthur starts to panic, because Eames always answers. Especially when he knows Arthur has a date.

 

“Arthur,” he finally picks up, his voice sounding off, but Arthur’s too upset to worry about it.

 

“Hunter broke up with me,” he chokes out.

 

Eames’ sigh is heavy over the line. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

 

“Can you come over?”

 

Eames is silent for a moment and Arthur starts to worry there’s actually something wrong, but then Eames asks: “Death by chocolate?” and Arthur feels a weak smile spreading across his face.

 

“Death by homemade tiramisu.”

 

Eames chuckles, and it’s still quiet, but now it’s less strained. “I’ll be right over.”

 

Arthur drops the phone on the nightstand and falls back onto the bed with a groan. There’s only a week until his birthday and he’s newly single again. Maybe it’s time to remind Eames of their pact. But there’s something in the back of his mind, a voice that sounds inexplicably like Eames himself, whispering that it will ruin everything because Arthur can stand being rejected by strangers and paramours, but he knows he’ll never get over being rejected by Eames.

 

And why would Eames want to give up his playboy lifestyle to settle down with Arthur? They both know an open relationship wouldn’t work, but he can’t ask Eames to tie himself down when being carefree with his sex life makes him so happy. And Arthur knows he could never measure up to some of the men Eames has been with, because Eames tells him everything, and on more than one occasion, Arthur’s been stunned speechless by Eames’ stories.

 

He lays there feeling sorry for himself until he hears Eames’ key in the door, then he pulls on pajama pants and an old t-shirt that used to be Eames’, and prepares to gorge himself on dessert.

 

“One day, you’re going to find a guy who sees what a great catch you are,” Eames tells him later, after they’ve scraped their plates of a second helping of tiramisu. They’re sitting at the table and Eames is holding Arthur’s hands in his. “You’re going to make someone the best husband.”

 

Arthur smiles, because the honesty and warmth in Eames’ eyes is getting to him. “What about you?”

 

Eames’ eyes go wide and his fingers spasm around Arthur’s palms.

 

“Don’t you want to find someone?” Arthur asks.

 

“Oh,” Eames blows out a noisy breath and smiles crookedly. “I am  _ not _ husband material, you know that.”

 

“That’s not true,” Arthur protests.

 

“Yes, it is,” Eames says sharply, then smiles and pats Arthur’s hand. “Look, I’m not like you, petal. I’m not designed to make anyone happy long term. But, I do know that anyone who would pass up an amazing evening like this with you, is a bloody fool.”

 

“Well, I’m obviously doing something wrong,” Arthur says, sourly.

 

“You have horrendous taste in men, that’s all.Take Hunter…”

 

“Can we not talk about him, please? I kind of just want to forget he exists.”

 

“I think we should—” Eames starts.

 

“No, I really don’t want to.”

 

“Let me finish,” Eames says, exasperated. “Anyone who would break up with you in a text is a prick, and not worth your time.”

 

“You think I don’t know that?” Arthur asks, a small smile on his lips. “I didn’t even text him back.”

 

Eames laughs and presses his forehead to their hands.

 

“I’m sick of being mistreated by assholes who don’t appreciate me,” Arthur tells him, feeling bold with Eames being so earnest beside him. “It’s time to move on from that. Focus on the things in my life that are good. The people who are good,” he hints nervously. 

 

“Yes,” Eames agrees, raising his coffee cup. “Let’s just enjoy being together and we’ll make the evening all about this gorgeous food you’ve made. To tiramisu.”

 

“To us,” Arthur amends and clinks their cups together.

 

Eames grins, his thumb sliding over the back of Arthur’s hand. “To us.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eames POV
> 
> This chapter is really, really short, and I promise there will be another posted later in the day to make up for it.

 

“So, run this by me one more time,” Ari says, pouring hot sauce on her taco. “Why didn’t you tell Arthur what happened the other night?”

 

“I just couldn’t,” Eames proclaims. “If you knew Arthur like I know him, then you know how upset it would make him and you wouldn’t have told him either.”

 

“Hmm, yes, I would have.”

 

“Arthur can’t handle these things,” Eames tries.

 

“He’s a grown man,” Ari reminds him, unimpressed.

 

“On the outside, yes. But on the inside he’s an Easy-Bake Oven away from being a twelve year old girl, okay? He takes rejection really, really hard. He is never going to find out.”

 

“Nope, that’s not how these things work,” Ari says through a mouthful of crunchy goodness. “They always find out. And even if they don’t, there’s always that worry in the back of your head that they might find out, and it drives you crazy.”

 

“I think you’re projecting your emotional baggage onto my situation.”

 

Ari kicks him. “Fuck you, I had to learn the hard way and I’m trying to help you.”

 

“Fine!” Eames says, rubbing his shin. “I’ll talk to him tonight, alright?”

 

Ari nods and steals Eames’ taco. “You better, because I’ll know if you don’t, you limey bastard.” 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised this chapter yesterday, but life intervened. Sorry! 
> 
> This chapter is Eames' POV and it's...angsty.

When Eames arrives, Arthur is halfway through his drink at the bar and looking as uncomfortable as he usually does when he’s alone at a place like this. He smiles brightly when he spots Eames, sliding off his stool to give him a strong hug and a kiss on the cheek.

 

“Martini?” Arthur asks, waving at the bartender.

 

“No, I’ll only end up with it thrown in my face,” he says, wincing at the change in Arthur’s posture. He’s gone wary, bracing himself against whatever bone-headed thing he thinks Eames has done this time.

 

“What did you do?” Arthur sighs, resigned.

 

“Can I just start by saying this was not my fault?” Eames pleads.

 

“That is the worst way to start a conversation,” Arthur tells him, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s like saying ‘I know this looks bad’, or ‘This will only hurt a little’.”

 

“I can already tell this is not going to end well,” Eames mutters, already regretting turning down a drink.

 

“Eames, I’ve known you for twenty years, nothing you say is going to surprise me at his point, so get on with it.”

 

Eames takes a deep breath and reminds himself that ripping off a bandaid is always best. “So, remember Hunter?”

 

Arthur frowns. “Do I remember the guy who broke up with me two nights ago? That’s what you’re asking me?”

 

“I ran his ID at the station,” Eames forges on. “His real name is Steven Adams. He’s from Nebraska.”

 

“Okay,” Arthur says, clearly growing impatient. “I knew where he was from. And he goes by another name, he’s an artist, a lot of artists do that. So his name isn’t Hunter...” Arthur shrugs.

 

“No, and it’s not Stone either!” Eames presses, groaning when Arthur looks at him like he’s crazy. “The point is that neither of us knew his real name.”

 

“Oh my god, just tell me what happened!” Arthur says, dropping his head back.

 

Eames wants to be truthful with Arthur, really he does, but he knows this is going to hurt him, and that’s never been something Eames likes to do. He wants to take Arthur home and tell him Hunter never mattered. That none of the other men they’ve been with mattered because it should always have been just the two of them, together. But Eames knows this isn’t just about Hunter, or Stone, or fucking Steven Adams. It’s about Eames, and Arthur, and building something on the honesty they’ve always given each other.

 

“After I left your place the other night, the night Hunter was supposed to come over,” he starts, forcing himself to look Arthur in the eye. “I went on Grindr to meet someone.”

 

Arthur’s eyes go wide as he skips ahead to the end in his mind, saving Eames from having to say the words out loud. 

 

“You hooked up with Hunter?” he asks, slowly, like he can’t quite believe that’s what Eames is telling him.

 

“I didn’t know it was him, I swear, Arthur. He said his name was Stone, and who uses that name anyway? It’s terrible,” Eames rambles because Arthur’s staring at him like he doesn’t know him, and maybe if Eames just never stops talking, Arthur will never get the chance to hate him. “He texted me and I went over there, and I did not know that what I was doing was wrong. I would  _ never _ do that to you.”

 

“I can’t believe you,” Arthur hisses.

 

“How was I supposed to know?” Eames cries, the rawness and volume of his voice starting to draw attention from the other patrons. “It’s not like you introduced me to the guy.”

 

“You ruined this for me,” Arthur accuses, and Eames nearly laughs out of shock. “I met a great guy and you just couldn’t stand it, could you?”

 

“He is not a great guy,” Eames roars, because the gleam in Arthur’s eye is vicious now and if Eames lets them, Arthur’s words will rip him to shreds. “And he’s certainly not the Prince Charming you seem to think he is. Trust me, Hunter is a creep.”

 

“Trust you?” Arthur chokes out on a broken laugh. “Now there’s a fucking fairytale if I’ve ever heard one.”

 

Eames sighs and all the fight goes out of him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He knows he was wrong, but why can’t Arthur see that it was out of his control? That he had no idea? Maybe if he can tell Arthur what he’s been feeling. Remind him of their pact and what they could be to each other. Maybe then Arthur would understand.

 

“Arthur, why do you do this? Why do you hang all your hopes and dreams on some guy you think is ‘the one’ and leave it up to him to make you happy?”  _ You _ should be making you happy. That way you wouldn’t be devastated when he walks away, which he always does.”

 

“Well, sadly that’s true, isn’t it?” Arthur says, bitterly.

 

“Something needs to change. But you have to want it to change,” Eames coaxes, building up to sharing his feelings.

 

“You’re right, something does have to change,” Arthur says, but his voice is hard and he’s throwing money on the bar. He takes one last look at Eames and shakes his head. “I can’t do this anymore.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor, pitiful Eames.

“Look at this guy,” Ari says, turning the speed gun so Eames can see it. “He didn’t even attempt to slow down when he saw us.”

 

“So light him up,” Eames says. They’re sitting under a billboard near University Park and Arthur hasn’t spoken to him in two days. Eames needs a distraction.

 

“He was only going forty.”

 

“He was speeding right in front of us,” Eames snaps. “People need to learn to respect authority. Light him up.”

 

“So now you’re that asshole cop that chases down an ‘87 Corolla for doing ten over the speed limit?” Ari asks.

 

“Yes,” Eames bites out and flips on the lights.

 

Ari shuts them off and crosses her arms. “You really need to straighten this thing out with Arthur before I lose my patience with you.”

 

Eames groans and tugs at his hair. “I’ve tried! I’ve called, texted, emailed, he obviously doesn’t want to talk to me. I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I can take a hint.”

 

“You need to go over there and work it out; knock his door down if you have to,” she insists.

 

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Eames repeats. “I don’t deserve for him to talk to me.” 

 

“Oh my god, stop being a fucking martyr! Arthur needs to see you try a little, Eames. He needs to know that you’re not willing to throw away twenty fucking years of friendship over this, so pull your balls out of your ass and man up!”

 

Eames glares at her. “Man up, really? You of all people, Ariadne, should recognize a phrase out of the toxic masculinity handbook.”

 

“I swear to god, if you do not go over there the minute your shift is over, I’m going to taser you,” she seethes. “You miss him. Make it right.”

 

“Fine,” he grouses, but only because he’s 95% sure she’d actually do it.

 

When he gets to Arthur’s that night, his hands are shaking before he even knocks on the door. It’s stupid, he and Arthur have fought before. They’ve given each other the silent treatment, wrestled, and screamed, but they always make up. This feels different. Arthur left before Eames could finish explaining himself and Eames knows Arthur thinks he was criticizing him about the one thing Arthur feels most vulnerable about. Right after he confessed to hooking up with his boyfriend. Fuck, he really knows how to screw things up, doesn't he?

 

Eames knocks, loud and strong. 

 

“Arthur, open the door!” he calls when there’s no answer. “Arthur, I need you to talk to me!” He resumes his banging, frowning at how flimsy Arthur door is when he really starts pounding. 

 

“Knock one more time and I’m calling the cops!” A muffled voice yells from behind him and Eames winces as Arthur’s neighbour yanks open his door, clad only in pajama pants and a robe. Eames flashes his badge at him.

 

“Officer,” the man says, coming outside. “Undercover, huh?” he asks, pointing out Eames’ lack of uniform.

 

“Something like that,” Eames mutters and goes back to knocking.

 

“A sting operation. I get it,” he man continues. “Still after Arthur, I see.”

 

Eames sighs. “Have you seen him?”

 

“Nope. What did he do?” the man asks, giddy.

 

“He didn’t do anything,” Eames assures him.

 

“It’s always the quiet ones.” The man winks and taps the side of his nose. “I knew he was a bad seed.”

 

“That isn’t the case, sir,” he says, fighting the urge to slump against Arthur’s door.

 

“Of course you can’t say anything,” the man continues. “I know what’s going on. I just hope you get the son of a bitch.”

 

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to go back inside your suite,” Eames says through clenched teeth. “For your own safety.”

 

The man salutes him and spins back inside, slamming the door.

 

“Arthur,” Eames calls, knocking again because he’s nothing if not a persistent bastard. “Come on, darling, please? Arthur?”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur act impulsively? Never!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's POV

Arthur is three beers into the corner cushion of Mal’s sectional when she returns with the popcorn. 

 

“Who needs men?” she asks, handing him the bowl. “We’ll have more fun without them.”

 

“You have a girlfriend now, so it doesn’t mean as much when you say it,” he tells her. “But thanks. I’ll try not to bitch too much tonight.”

 

“Why?” Mal scoffs. “I love hearing you bitch, it makes me feel better about my life.”

 

Arthur laughs. “You’re terrible at this.”

 

Mal shrugs. “Maybe, but I’m trying.”

 

“And I appreciate it,” Arthur smiles and clinks the neck of his bottle against hers. “How are things with the fair Ariadne?”

 

“Oh, Arthur,” Mal swats at his arm, turning a lovely shade of pink. “You know I never kiss and tell.”

 

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “That good, huh?”

 

“She’s...magnifique,” Mal smiles, her eyes going soft.

 

“I’m really happy for you. Horribly jealous, but happy.”

 

“I know, we’re enviable. Now, what about you? Onward and upward from here, yes?”

 

Arthur clears his throat and puts his beer on the coffee table. “Mal, there’s something I need to tell you. Please don’t be upset.”

 

“Any conversation that begins with ‘please don’t be upset’ upsets me, Arthur,” Mal says, side-eyeing him.

 

“I need to start fresh,” Arthur starts and takes a deep breath. “Get somewhere far away from here.”

 

“So you’re moving to the valley?” Mal asks, hopefully.

 

“No. I’m thinking of transferring to the New York office. There’s a job opening there for a senior litigator.”

 

Mal’s face goes carefully blank. “And when you say you’re thinking about it, you mean…”

 

“I start next week,” he confesses.

 

“You’re leaving? Just like that?” Mal asks, not bothering to hide her anger. 

 

“We both know I should go,” he argues.

 

“No, actually, we don’t. I think you are running away from your problems.”

 

“Please don’t make this harder for me than it already is,” he snaps. “I’ve already lost Eames, I don’t want to lose you, too.”

 

“You haven’t lost him, Arthur. You had a fight. Friends fight. Lovers fight. Strangers fight. They get over it, make up, and move on.”

 

“I really need to do this,” he says quietly, his throat growing thick with emotion.

 

Mal laughs, incredulous. “No, you don’t! It is an irrational, impetuous, and emotionally clouded decision.”

 

“I need to break this cycle and I can’t do it from Los Angeles.”

 

“Just talk to Eames,” she pleads.

 

“I can’t, Mal. You don’t—you didn’t hear what he said to me. It was like he pulled out all my faults and laid me bare. Like I was a joke.”

 

“I’m sure he didn’t mean—”

 

“Mal, I’ve known him for twenty years, I know exactly what he meant. And I just can’t be here anymore. I need something to change or I’m afraid I’m going to go insane.” His voice cracks and Mal pulls him to her, kissing his temple and smoothing his hair.

 

“I hate this, but it’s your life. I will concede on one condition.”

 

“And that is?” he asks, blinking away tears.

 

“I get to throw you a going away party on your birthday, before you go.”

 

“Mal, my birthday is on Christmas Eve, no one will come to a party, they have lives,” he protests.

 

“Then you have no reason to oppose me throwing it.”

 

Arthur laughs wetly and pulls back, taking a long swig from his beer. Mal eyes him carefully and waits until he sets down the bottle to speak.

 

“How are you going to tell Eames you’re moving to the other side of the country?” she asks, and just like that, Arthur is fighting tears once more because the loss is still new, and sometimes he forgets until it tears through his heart all over again.

 

His lip trembles, but he smiles through it. “I don’t know yet.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eames POV
> 
> This is not a happy chapter, I'm sorry. But I upped the chapter numbers, so yay!

Eames is asleep on the couch when the pounding starts. It’s distant, but incessant, and no matter how small he tries to make himself, every knock is like a mallet to his head. He jerks, nearly falling off the couch when something hard and cold slides into his underarm.

 

“If you were a horse, I’d be obliged to put you down,” Ari tells him, pointing at him with her nightstick.

 

Eames glares and winnies at her. 

 

“You’re late for your shift, dickhead. Go get in the shower.”

 

Eames rolls his eyes and reaches for a half empty beer bottle. Ari grabs it first and puts it out of reach.

 

“So, how long is this going to go on?” she asks, sitting awkwardly beside him to avoid yesterday’s underwear on the arm of the couch.

 

“Give me five minutes of hot water and I’ll be good to go,” he mutters, holding a throw pillow over his nakedness.

 

“Not the shower,” she says like he’s being purposefully obtuse. “The self-pity and depression. It’s been every night this week.”

 

“I’ve finally found something I’m good at, why quit before I’ve mastered it?” he snipes, getting to his feet with a groan.

 

“Fine, since you’re already so low, I’ve got something else for you. It’s an invitation.”

 

Eames frowns and scratches his chest. “From who?”

 

“From Mal...she’s having a few people over on Christmas Eve.”

 

“Will Arthur be there?” Eames asks, hope curling through his chest.

 

“Yes,” Ari says slowly.

 

“Perfect, this is my opportunity to smooth things over. Explain to him what I was trying to say when he stormed out on me.” Eames laughs, feeling like the sun is finally shining again.

 

“You could, in theory, do that,” Ari allows, frowning.

 

“Was this Mal’s idea? It was, wasn’t it?” Eames asks.

 

“Absolutely,” Ari says, nodding. “You remember that. All Mal’s idea. So, you’ll come?”

 

“Hell yes! Now I have something to look forward to,” Eames crows. He’s so preoccupied with planning what he’ll say to Arthur that he doesn’t see Ari banging her head on the coffee table.

  
  


Eames dresses carefully the day of the party, choosing a shirt Arthur bought him and jeans he knows always garner him a second glance. He wants to look his best for this. He wants Arthur to notice him again. Before he heads out, he grabs his coat and trails his fingers over the picture of the two of them, side by side, on the day they met. They’ll get back there, Eames promises himself. He’s going to fix things.

 

There are about twenty-five people crammed into Mal’s small house, and even with Los Angeles being a city or work orphans, he’s surprised so many showed up on such a big holiday. Of course, if Mal told him to be somewhere at a certain time, he’d probably obey out of fear alone.

 

Arthur’s in the living room with Ari and Mal, and the moment Eames lays eyes on him, his mouth goes dry. He’s wearing a green oxford with the sleeves rolled up, showing off the lean strength of his forearms, and his grey vest has silver threads coursing through it that perfectly match the flecks of grey Arthur won’t admit are starting to show up in his dark hair. He looks a little tired, but he’s laughing at something Mal just said, and Eames wants to place a kiss on each of his dimples. 

 

He catches sight of Eames and sobers, dropping his eyes to stare into his glass while Ari waves him over. Eames takes a deep breath and puts on his best smile, brushing a kiss over Mal’s cheek and thanking her for the invite.

 

“It’s good to see you,” Eames tells Arthur, feeling breathless already. “I hear you got a promotion for your birthday.”

 

Arthur and Mal both turn to Ari with wide eyes while she chugs her drink.

 

“Time for another!” she declares, pulling Mal into the kitchen.

 

“What was that about?” Eames asks, still smiling because Arthur hasn’t yelled at him yet, and that’s progress.

 

“Ah, it’s just that this isn’t exactly a party for my promotion,” Arthur tells him, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“So, you didn’t get a promotion?”

 

Arthur winces. “I technically did, I guess you could say.”

 

“Well, congrats!” Eames says, his fingers twitching to pull Arthur into a hug. But it’s too soon. They need to really talk first.

 

“It’s also a going away party,” Arthur blurts.

 

Eames’ smile freezes. “For who?”

 

Arthur’s gaze doesn’t leave his and he watches Arthur go pink, then red, biting his lips the way he only does when he’s really nervous.

 

“You’re leaving?” Eames croaks, unable to fully grasp what’s going on here. “Where? When?”

 

Arthur’s eyes are dark and shining, but Eames knows his own are going cold and hard as Arthur stands there, giving him that helpless look he pulls out when he needs Eames to comfort him. To take care of him.

 

“Arthur,” Eames snaps.

 

“Tomorrow. I leave for New York tomorrow,” Arthur looks scared for a second, then he seems to center himself, shrugging like he’s not ripping himself out of Eames’ life with no warning. “I’m going to drive, take some time for myself. Go south through New Mexico.”

 

Eames takes a few deep breaths, and tries to calm his racing heart. “You’re moving to New York,” he says quietly. “Tomorrow. And this is how you tell me?”

 

“Well, Ariadne was going to tell you,” Arthur starts, and as soon as the words are out, he seems to know they’re the wrong ones.

 

Eames almost laughs, he so shocked. “You asked Ari to tell me?”

 

“Mal did,” Arthur tells him, still trying to pass everything off as no big deal. He’s just leaving Eames with no warning, what’s the problem?

 

“How could you leave and not say anything to me?” Eames asks, his voice cracking and his hands shaking.

 

“I haven’t left yet,” Arthur protests.

 

“Yes, but you’re planning on it, Arthur. Tomorrow,” Eames shakes his head. “Why?”

 

“Because I don’t have a reason to stay anymore,” Arthur says, anger snapping in his tone.

 

Eames’ gut clenches and he wants nothing more than to turn around and flee, but he came here to talk to Arthur, and that’s what he intends to do. Even if it ends up breaking his heart. He’s in love with Arthur, he knows that now, and he can’t live with himself if he doesn’t know exactly how Arthur feels.

 

“I’m not a good enough reason, then?” he asks, his fingernails biting into his palms.

 

Arthur shrugs. “You tell me, Eames.”

 

“Look, if this is about the Hunter thing, nothing happened. We didn’t—”

 

“I know that,” Arthur assures him. “And I’m not mad about that anymore.  _ I’m _ the reason I need to leave. I need to grow up and stop looking for my Prince Charming to come and save me.”

 

“That’s what I’ve been telling you for years,” Eames starts, seeing an opening to get back to where they were before Arthur stomped out on him.

 

“Well, then, I agree with you.” 

 

Eames almost takes a step back at the surety in Arthur’s voice. “So you think that moving to New York is what is going to make you happy?”

 

“Nothing here ever has.”

 

Eames wants to shout. He wants to kick and punch, and bleed, and feel anything that isn’t his heart breaking in two. Anything that isn’t Arthur throwing his love back in his face.

 

“I guess that’s that,” Eames says, outwardly wondering at how he can sound so calm when his insides he’s screaming.

 

“I guess so,” Arthur quirks a small smile and it’s petty and mean, but it makes Eames feel better when it wobbles. 

 

He takes one last look at Arthur being perfect with his brown eyes and wide mouth. His long fingers and tapered waist. He soaks it up for a moment, then he turns around and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, do I love Eames and Ari in this!

Eames drags himself to his favorite go-go bar downtown. It’s sad and depressing on Christmas Eve, but apparently that’s just Eames’ life now. The other men in the bar are mostly older, a little more weathered, a little more desperate, and Eames gets an idea of what the dancers must feel like on every other day of the year. He definitely needs to find a new bar.

 

His phone dings and a Grindr message flashes across the screen. Apparently he’s not the only one flying solo tonight and wishing they weren’t. He stares at the picture of ‘Cameron’, with his bared chest and photoshopped abs, and just feels so done with it all. He doesn’t have anymore energy for things that make him feel hollow.

 

He goes into his settings and hovers over the ‘Delete’ button. It would be the end of an era, that’s for sure, but maybe it’s time. He deletes it before he can talk himself out of it and drops his phone on the bar. One more drink, then he’ll head home and wallow in privacy.

 

He’s just received his refill when Ari drops onto the stool next to him and orders a beer.

 

“I’m mad at you,” Eames informs her, primly.

 

“I know,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “But seeing as I’m your only friend now  _ and _ your partner at work, I think you’re going to have to get over that pretty quickly.”

 

Eames snorts and shakes his head, but the heaviness in his chest doesn’t let up. “You knew that was a going away party.”

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I figured you deserved to hear it from Arthur. Plus, if I had told you, you wouldn’t have come and said goodbye.”

 

“Is that what I did?” Eames asks and takes a drink.

 

“Something like that. At least that’s what it looked like from where I was hiding behind Mal in the kitchen.” 

 

“He’s right, you know,” Eames starts, his melancholy and sense of offense aided by the alcohol. “It is better for us both if he just leaves.”

 

“Well, you certainly know what’s best,” Ari tells him placatingly.

 

“I’m not like Arthur, I don’t need anyone.”

 

“It’s true, you are an island,” Ari declares, clinking her bottle to his glass. “You’re not at all miserable when he’s not around.”

 

“Arthur is a hopeless romantic. All he wants is someone to love him.”

 

Ari scoffs. “So unreasonable.”

 

“Plus, he’s a people pleaser.”

 

“I bet that was his nickname in high school,” she adds with a saucy wink.

 

“All he cares about is the guy he’s with. He’s like a penguin!” Eames shouts, drawing the attention of some of the other patrons.

 

“You’re losing me,” Ari admits.

 

“He’ll bond to you, and he’s dependable, and trustworthy.”

 

“All terrible qualities in a life partner and a penguin.”

 

“I mean, can you imagine if Arthur and I were together?” Eames laughs, high and manic.

 

“It’s ludicrous to think that two people who care about each other as much as you two do would ever, ever want to be in a relationship.” 

 

“Exactly! If Arthur were the perfect guy for me I would have realized it years ago,” he reasons.

 

“There is no way you’d overlook something so obvious for so long,” she agrees.

 

“Right? Arthur just wants to be married,” he sneers, picking up his glass. “And all I want is...is for him to be happy.”

 

Ari leans closer, resting her hand on his arm. “And the only way to make that happen is to remove you from his life?”

 

Eames’ nose is tingling and his eyes are wet. He wants to lay his head on the bar and sleep through the nightmare that’s become his life. Maybe if he sleeps long enough, he won’t remember how much this hurts when he wakes up. Ari’s hand cards through his hair as she hugs him from the side.

 

“I love him, Ari,” Eames tells her, his voice breaking. “I love him so much.”

 

“I know,” she says, taking his hand. “Let’s get you home.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the gap between postings, but we're back on track now! Only two more chapters to go!

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to bear witness to the matrimony of these two men.”

 

Eames knows he’s dreaming in that  déjà vu way he always does when his daytime thoughts cross over into his unconscious mind. The fact that he can hear the Justice of the Peace so clearly from all the way at the back of the yard, and over the babbling fountain beside him, confirms it. Especially since she and the wedding party appear to be about four hundred feet ahead of him.

 

“This is a relationship that stands for love and loyalty.”

 

He can’t actually see anyone from that far away, but he knows it’s Arthur standing at the altar, just like he knows there’s a seat waiting for him in the front row. He starts the walk, cushing rose petals beneath his feet, and every guest he passes ignores him completely, the Justice rolling through her script undisturbed.

 

“This is a relationship that stands for trust and honesty.”

 

The guests are eerily quiet as Eames makes his way down the aisle. They’re stock still, and staring straight ahead, intent on what’s going on under the wedding arch. There are birds chirping and the wind rustles the trees, and Eames can hear waves crashing into rocks somewhere close by, but he and the Justice seem to be the only people capable of making noise.

 

“But most important, this is a relationship that stands for friendship.”

 

Eames is halfway there when he first notices the man standing beside Arthur. His back is to the guests, and Eames can’t quite make out any details about him. Is his hair dark or light? Is he taller than Arthur, or the same height. Eames knows he can’t be shorter because that’s just not Arthur’s style. Eames can’t even distinguish the color of the man’s attire, though he knows for certain that Arthur is in a light grey suit with a pale lavender bow tie and a boutonniere made of african violets and a single white rose.

 

“Because before they were lovers, they were friends.”

 

Arthur notices him when he’s still a hundred feet away, and though the sun is beating down on Eames, its heat pales in comparison to the warmth he feels at Arthur’s smile. It’s radiant and wide, his dimples deep in his cheeks, making Eames fall in love with him all over again. He looks so genuinely happy to see him that Eames has the sudden urge to storm the altar and confess his love.

 

“And it was from this seed of friendship, that grew their destiny.”

 

But Arthur doesn’t just look happy with Eames’ presence. He turns his adoring eyes to his groom, and his smile grows even brighter as Eames’ joy plummets. He falls into his chair, now miraculously behind him, and he has to grip the bottom of the seat to keep himself from fleeing.

 

“One cannot dictate or determine the course of love.”

 

Arthur looks back at Eames, then at his groom, and back at Eames, as if he’s asking for Eames’ approval, and all Eames can do is plaster on a smile and try not to let the heartbreak show in his eyes.

 

“For if love finds you worthy, then love directs you.”

 

Arthur is nearly bouncing with happiness and Eames thinks he might throw up. Ari and Mal are beside him, but their eyes are glued to the ceremony, and Eames suddenly feels very small and very alone. Arthur is glad to see him, so they must have made up, but he’s not the best man, so there’s no way they’re as close as they used to be. 

 

“It is this sacred and holy estate which you enter into as one.”

 

Eames’ heart aches more with every smile Arthur turns on him. Eames knows all his tells and Arthur isn’t nervous or scared, he isn’t second guessing this decision, and he’s not hoping for a way out. He loves the man beside him, and he’s finally getting what he wants. What he deserves.

 

“And if anyone has just cause as to why these two should not join as one, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

 

The words ring in Eames’ ears, and the Justice is looking right at him. In fact, everyone is looking right at him. It makes his skin crawl the way he can feel their gazes on his skin, like creeping fingers, searching for a soft spot to poke. But Arthur’s not looking at him. He’s grinning at his groom, love and certainty clear in his eyes, so Eames forces a smile on his face and stares down at his hands. Nothing to see here, nothing to do.

 

“Do you take this man to love, honour, and comfort, and bestow upon him your deepest devotion, for as long as you both shall live?”

 

The guests go back to staring at the front, and Eames’ smile trembles off his lips. He had so many chances to realize his love for Arthur, and he failed every time. Took those opportunities and threw them away, and he can’t try to take them back now. Not when he’s never seen Arthur so content.

 

“Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husbands.”

 

Eames wants to scream. This is wrong. WRONG. Arthur should be his. He should be Arthur’s. They’ve spent the past twenty years as best friends, being there for each other, growing together, and quietly shaping themselves into the person the other one needs. Arthur is everything Eames didn’t know he wanted, but now that he does, he aches for him. He knows they should be together, knows he’s the only one who can make Arthur truly happy because he’s done it. He’s spent the past two decades perfecting it.

 

“You may now kiss your groom.”

 

Eames jumps to his feet, ready to wretch Arthur and the man apart, even if the horde of guests try to stop him. But the man turns to Arthur, and Eames’ anger dissolves in his chest because the man is him. He’s Arthur’s groom. The one Arthur is so happy to finally have found and committed to. The husband Arthur chose.

 

The dream dissolves as their lips touch and Eames jerks awake, wincing at sound of breaking glass and the bright sunlight streaming through the window. The picture of he and Arthur is a casualty of his flailing, but he can’t stop to pick up the pieces because it’s 7:40 am on Christmas morning and Eames has somewhere he needs to be.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I could end it here, but then I wouldn't have earned my rating, would I? One more chapter to go!

Eames gets stuck in a line of cars when no one remembers how to deal with the lights being out at an intersection and he wonders why the hell there are so many people out this early on Christmas morning anyway. By the time he pulls up to Arthur’s housing complex, he’s been honked at six times, flipped the bird thrice, and nearly rear-ended two vehicles, so it’s no wonder he lets out a frustrated growl when he pounds on the door and discovers the apartment is empty and Arthur is already gone.

 

“What are you goddamn kids up to now?” Arthur’s neighbour shouts, opening his door.

 

“I’m sorry to disturb you sir,” Eames tells him, starting to worry that he’s completely blown his chance at happiness.

 

“Oh, officer, I didn’t realize it was you,” the man says, not bothering to close his robe over his pajamas. “Still haven’t caught him yet?”

 

“Have you seen him today?” Eames asks, ignoring the man’s question.

 

“Saw him this morning,” he confides. “Woke me up making a ruckus. I went back to sleep, which I never do, by the way. Damn sciatica kept me up all night. I got one of these dial mattresses. I changed it from a four to a six, thought that might help. I slept better on my old Sealy. You think they’d let me take this one back?”

 

“I really have to get to Arthur,” Eames snaps, his hangover catching up with him. “So if you know where he is…”

 

The man shrugs. “Gone, now. I guess you missed him.”

 

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Eames sighs, walking away.

 

“You’re going to go after him, aren’t ya?” the man calls.

 

“He’s not actually a criminal,” Eames explains.

 

The man sneers at him. “I know that, I ain’t blind and stupid. You obviously love him.”

 

Eames blinks, then laughs. “I—I do.”

 

“Then go after him! Don’t make the same mistake I did and end up like this, stir-crazy and alone by sixty,” he glares at Eames. “Don’t just stand there, go get him!”

 

Eames groans and pulls at his hair. “He’s going to New York, I don’t know where he is! It’s not like I can just catch up to him.”

 

“You got a cop car, don’tcha? Light up that son of a bitch! I’ve seen them go two hundred miles an hour; tear up that freeway and don’t let him get away!”

 

Eames nods, a plan forming in his mind. “Okay, okay.”

 

He rushes to his car, his phone already to his ear because when a cop needs help, he always calls for backup.

  
  


“You better be bleeding out on the floor,” Ari mutters when she picks up. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

 

“Arthur’s left and I need to catch up to him. Meet me at the station.”

 

There’s silence on the line, then the shuffling sounds of Ari moving. “It’s about fucking time! I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  
  


Eames has always loved the pageantry and urgency of the lights and sirens on their squad car, and today is no different. It’s Christmas morning, but there’s still enough traffic that he has to weave around cars before they hit the freeway.

 

“I’m sorry for getting you out of bed so early, but this is important,” Eames tells Ari as they merge onto the 10.

 

“Who needs to sleep in on Christmas morning?” Ari scoffs. “Besides, this is fun.”

 

“Look, I need to catch up to Arthur before it’s too late. Do me a favor and call him, see where he’s at.”

 

“No way!” Ari says, smacking Eames in the arm. “That’s not how it’s done. Arthur is a romantic, right? We have to catch up to him, then the element of surprise will win him back.”

 

“And what if we don’t make it in time?” Eames asks, skeptical.

 

“Trust me on this one, I know what I’m talking about, Mal makes me watch tonnes of rom-coms. You’ll get your guy in the end,” she promises.

 

Two and a half hours later they’re leaning against the car under the sign for the Nevada state line, gas light on and no Arthur in sight.

 

“I really thought it would work,” Ari says.

 

“Calling doesn’t seem like such a bad idea now, does it?” Eames bites out.

 

“It always works in the movies,” she argues.

 

Eames sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “I fucked this up so badly.”

 

Ari pats him on the shoulder. “I know.” 

 

“So what now?”

 

“I dunno. Wanna come with me to Mal’s for brunch? You probably shouldn’t be alone after losing the love of your life and your best friend all in one fell swoop.”

 

Eames shakes his head. “Thanks, but I think I’d be terrible company right now.”

 

“I know, that’s why you should come,” Ari tells him, and Eames smiles because she really is a good friend sometimes.

 

“Next time, I promise.”

 

Ari calls Mal from the car, telling her that she’ll be a little late, and Eames hears way too much about their plans for Ari’s nightstick and resisting arrest. Ari ends the call with a giggle, punching Eames gently in the arm in apology.

 

The ride back is silent, Ari playing on her phone and Eames slipping deeper and deeper into his own misery as he plays a game of ‘what if’ with himself. What if he’d pulled his head out of his ass earlier and realized he’s in love with Arthur? What if he confessed his feelings at the party yesterday and begged him not to leave? What if he didn’t understand what feeling this way meant until Arthur was settled on the east coast? Would it have been easier that way, or would Eames get on a plane and go after him?

 

When he pulls onto Mal’s street, he still has more questions than answers, but the pain of his heartbreak has started to numb him and a little Jack Daniels should take care of the rest.

 

“You sure you don’t want to come in?” Ari asks, unbuckling her seatbelt.

 

“You know a gay guy is tired when he turns down brunch,” Eames jokes weakly. “Look, I had a bad night and a disappointing morning, I need to wallow.”

 

“Bottomless drinks,” she offers, clasping her hands under her chin. “I have a feeling you’ll get your money’s worth today.”

 

Eames chuckles, but shakes his head. “I really don’t feel like being around people. Especially when those people are in love.” He nods towards Mal, who is strutting down the driveway in a silk pajama set and flowing robe.

 

“Where the hell have you two been?” Mal demands when Ari opens the door. “But you brought the squad car. Très bien.” She leers at Ari, who goes beet red.

 

“We drove to Nevada this morning, we were trying to catch up with Arthur,” Ari explains, her fingers playing with the cascade of Mal’s dark hair.

 

“Nevada?” Mal frowns. “Why were you trying to catch Arthur?”

 

“Eames has finally admitted to himself that he’s in love with him and doesn’t want Arthur to leave.”

 

“What happened to partner privilege?” Eames groans, dropping his head to the steering wheel.

 

“You just missed him,” Mal says.

 

Eames rolls his head to the side, glaring at her. “Obviously.”

 

“You and your detective skills,” Mal teases. “I mean he was just here. He left a few minutes ago.”

 

“Maybe we can still catch him!” Ari says, bouncing a little in her seat.

 

Eames pulls out his phone and calls Arthur, his pulse pounding over the ringing over the line.

 

“You can’t call him, that’s not how it works!” Mal protests.

 

“I tried explaining that, but then we ended up in Nevada with no Arthur,” Ari tells her.

 

Eames tunes them out, tapping his fingers on the wheel until he’s sent to Arthur’s voicemail. “Shite.”

 

Mal straightens up and points to the car parked on the other side of her driveway. “He’s right there.”

 

Eames stares, wide-eyed as Arthur pulls away from the curb and heads down the street. He’s about to start the squad car when Arthur pulls a U-turn and heads back in their direction.

 

“There’s no exit that way,” Mal says, pulling Ari out of the car. “Go! Go!”

 

Eames stumbles out into the street, throwing himself in Arthur’s path. He rolls onto the hood when Arthur doesn’t quite stop in time, but he’s still grinning through the windscreen at the man he loves, so it’s the best day of his fucking life.

 

“Are you crazy?” Arthur shouts at him. “Move!”

 

Eames’s smile drops. “Are you kidding me? Get out of the car!”

 

“Get out of my way,” Arthur counters, thunderous.

 

Ari pushes in front of Eames to lay across the hood and Eames presses his face close to Arthur’s driver’s side window.

 

“I need to leave,” Arthur insists.

 

“Arthur.”

 

“No, let me go,” Arthur argues, rolling his eyes when Mal goes to stand behind the car. “Would you just move?”

 

When they all continue to stare at him, Arthur throws open his door and gets in Eames’ face. “Why are you all doing this to me?”

 

Eames has a million words on his tongue, but none of them seem right, and the longer he stays silent, the angrier Arthur grows.

 

“There is nothing you can do to make me stay,” Arthur spits.

 

So Eames does the only thing he can think of. He grabs Arthur’s face and kisses him. 

 

“Was that supposed to change my mind?” Arthur asks when Eames releases him.

 

Eames frowns. “That was the idea.”

 

“Well it didn’t,” Arthur says, frustrated. “I can’t do this with you anymore, Eames. I need to do what’s right for me now, and that’s getting away from you.”

 

The words cut Eames to the quick, but he knows Arthur well enough to know that it’s his fear talking. Eames only hopes Arthur’s fear springs from not knowing how to handle falling in love with his best friend.

 

“You may not need anyone, Arthur, but you deserve someone. Someone who loves you, and appreciates all you do for them. Someone who is mad about you and wants to spend every waking moment with you. I want to be that person, darling.”

 

“You’re not capable of having a serious relationship, you’ve told me that a hundred times,” Arthur argues, but there’s an unsteadiness to his voice that matches Eames’.

 

“What have we been doing the last twenty years?” Eames asks, his voice raw. “I may not be the Prince Charming you’ve been imagining, but you know I would slay dragons for you.”

 

Arthur shakes his head and there’s a wetness to his eyes that makes Eames wants to hold him. “It’s not enough, Eames.”

 

“What else is there?”

 

“Trust,” Arthur tells him. “Love. Companionship, respect.”

 

“And you don’t think we have all those things?”

 

Arthur’s tears are threatening to spill down his cheeks, but he sets his jaw and Eames knows he has to play his trump card.

 

“Then I guess I’ll have to make it easy for you,” he tells him, pulling a wrinkled and smudged napkin out of his pocket. “Because you don’t have a choice.”

 

“What?” Arthur scoffs.

 

Eames nods to Mal over Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, because I need a lawyer. Would you please tell me if this is still legally binding?”

 

Mal takes the napkin and taps her cheek as she reads. “You’re in luck, mon chou. It’s binding.”

 

Eames shrugs. “The law is the law.”

 

“I’m so glad everyone has made the decision about what I should do,” Arthur tells them, his fists clenched and his cheeks red. “Does anyone even want to know what I think?”

 

“Always, Arthur,” Eames tells him gently.

 

Arthur nods and sniffs. “I think that after waiting ten years for that fucking napkin contract,” he pauses and gazes into Eames’ eyes. “I deserve a proper kiss.”

 

Arthur is on him before Eames can even react, cupping the back of his neck and covering Eames’ mouth with his own. Eames melts into it, wrapping his arms around Arthur, his body shaking with relief and elation.

 

“Boo! Get a room!” Ari calls, laughing.

 

Arthur breaks the kiss and they grin stupidly at each other.

 

“Mimosas!” Mal declares, clapping her hands together and herding Ari up the driveway.

 

Eames licks his lips and Arthur’s tongue follows, pressing against his teeth because Eames can’t stop smiling.

 

“Fucking finally,” Arthur breathes.

 

“Happy Birthday, darling.”

 

“Merry Christmas, Eames.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need some Slack emojis to celebrate the ending of this fic! Cheerleader Arthur and Eames, perhaps. Anyway, it's done! Another Holiday Fic Remix, and another run of amazing support and love from this fandom! You are all my lifeblood, and I thank you so much for seeing me through this fic, and all the others that came before it! Happy Holidays and Horms!

A week later, Arthur is back in his old place, having bartered a rental increase in exchange for ignoring his notice of vacancy. It’s not the best deal he’s ever made, but it comes with the bonus of Eames helping him unpack, so Arthur can’t complain.

 

He’s just settled into bed when his phone buzzes with a facetime request from Eames. Arthur shakes his head and accepts the call.

 

“Why are you calling me?” Arthur asks, unable to keep his smile at bay. Eames is bare chested and mussed, looking properly debauched.

 

“Well, I always call you after I hook up with a hot guy.” Eames leers at him through the screen and Arthur laughs and flushes when he thinks about how he should probably just buy an upholstery cleaner instead of renting one every time Eames wants to fuck on the couch, which is daily.

 

“How was it?” Arthur asks, still a little bashful about them sleeping together.

 

Eames giggles. “Let me put it this way, darling, I’m going to have to call you back because I’m about to do it again.”

 

“That good, huh?” Arthur grins, curling his toes against the sheets.

 

Eames’ eyes go soft. “The best ever.”

 

Arthur tosses his phone to the side and rolls across the bed, meeting Eames halfway, his mouth finding skin and latching on. Eames’ hands are in his hair, carding through the strands as he moans and fights through the covers with his feet to reach Arthur. Arthur chuckles and pulls the duvet and sheets from between them, letting out a shaky sigh once they’re skin to skin.

 

It’s been a week of this new kind of intimacy and learning each other this way, and it still sets his body on fire every time Eames touches him. They touched plenty before, even been naked in close proximity, but it was never like this. This is shocks of pleasure as Eames’ fingers ghost across his chest, butterflies in his stomach and shivers in his limbs as Eames’ mouth closes around him, feeling impossibly light and yet completely anchored when Eames is inside him. This, Arthur realizes, is making love.

 

It’s somehow familiar and brand new at the same time, and Arthur never, never wants it to end. Eames thrusts lazily against him, the flat of his hand smoothing down Arthur’s spine while Arthur hums around the skin between his teeth and arches, encouraging Eames’ wandering fingers.

 

“I want you inside me,” Eames rasps, his voice shy, but his movements sure as he pulls Arthur on top of him.

 

“Yeah?” Arthur grins into his neck, slipping between Eames’ legs. It’s not that Arthur doesn’t top, but he’s been quite happy letting Eames apologize for letting Arthur walk away by fucking him on every available surface. Arthur has never gone through bleach at this rate before and he thinks the manager of the corner grocery is growing suspicious.

 

“Yeah,” Eames groans, wrapping a leg over Arthur’s hip so he can thrust more efficiently.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Arthur tells him, trailing kisses over Eames’ chest.

 

Eames whines, high and reedy when Arthur bites down gently on his nipple, precome smearing over his sternum as Arthur makes his way lower. He presses Eames’ legs up and out, licking a stripe over his hole and continuing on until he can suck one of Eames’ balls into his mouth.

 

Eames hooks his hands behind his knees, holding himself open so prettily, and it drives Arthur half wild. He grabs the lube and lathes his tongue over Eames, rubbing against the puckered skin and soaking the hair with saliva until Eames is chanting his name in soft, low grunts.

 

He replaces his tongue with his fingers, biting at the tender skin of Eames’ inner thigh and closing his eyes at the velvet smooth clasp of Eames’ body. He works diligently, rubbing against the press of muscle and easing Eames open until he’s three fingers deep and Eames is grinding into it, feet flat on the floor, hands twisted in the sheets.

 

“Arthur,” Eames pants. “Arthur, now. I need you…” His words dissolve into a groan as Arthur pulls his fingers out and lines himself up, slick and ready, but nervous. “Come on, darling, I’ve got you.”

 

Arthur leans forward and kisses him, Eames’ tongue warm and reassuring against his as he presses in. Eames is tight, and hot, and Arthur’s scared to move lest he come instantly.

 

“Shh, darling, it’s alright,” Eames hushes him and it’s then that Arthur realizes he’s whimpering.

 

“I love you,” Arthur gasps, rolling his hips.

 

Eames arches into the movement, fingers digging into Arthur’s ribs as he clings. They rock together, deep and slow, trading kisses and smiles, heat building between them and pressure pooling in Arthur’s spine as his thrusts slow, pulling almost all the way out and sliding back in, grinding into Eames until he’s a shuddering mess.

 

Eames gets is hand between them and strokes, his knuckles tickling Arthur’s abdomen, and then he groans, loud and long, spilling over his hand and stomach. He falls limp against the sheets, legs flopping open, and Arthur laughs.

 

“Almost there,” he pants, hooking Eames’ knees over his arms and bending him nearly in half so he can sink deeper, root himself inside Eames and mark him as his own. 

 

Eames’ hand clasps the back of Arthur’s neck, holding him close. His other hand is sticky and wet on Arthur’s ass, but Arthur can’t help but speed up, wringing a strangled moan out of his own throat as he comes.

 

They lay tangled together, breaths returning to normal and sweat cooling, until Arthur slips out and Eames grunts at the movement.

 

“We should shower,” Arthur says, flopping on top of Eames.

 

“We will,” Eames pats his arm. “Tomorrow.”

 

Arthur laughs, ruffling the hair on Eames’ chest. “I get the feeling my personal hygiene is going to suffer because of you.”

 

“Yes, but your quality of life will improve, I guarantee it.”

 

Arthur props his chin on Eames’ peck, smiling. “It already has.”

 

Eames strokes his thumb over Arthur cheek, smiling fondly. “You know, if you really love me, you’ll let me plan the wedding.”

 

Arthur snorts and rolls onto his side and draping an arm and a leg over Eames. “Not gonna happen.”

 

“Come now, darling, I’ve had a vision!” Eames pleads.

 

“Does your vision involve body shots and go-go dancers?”

 

Eames squints. “Maybe. But that’s just at the ceremony, the reception will be much classier!”

 

Arthur laughs and kisses his cheek. “Go to sleep Mr. Eames.” 

 

They wake the next morning and do it all over again, ready and willing to make the most of the rest of their life together.


End file.
